


The Far Shore

by Mysecretfanmoments



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Fix-It, F/M, Inquisition Dissolved, Non-mage Lavellan, Pining, Post-Trespasser, The Fade, but will get resolved, mentions of Sera x Dagna, the resentment is real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-07 09:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10356900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Mysecretfanmoments
Summary: If Ellana can't have answers in the waking world, she'll seek them in dreams. She's determined to spy on Solas, to work against him somehow—but outmatching the Fade expert in the Fade itself might be too ambitious even for a former Inquisitor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a few liberties with the end of Trespasser. In this universe, the Inquisitor has said she'll redeem Solas, but sensing his resistance to that, does threaten that she'll have to come after him if he won't change his mind. The fic itself takes place about a year after those events.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The dreams were losing their novelty.

Since the amputation, she’d started joking about all the things she’d give her right arm for: more messaging crystals, reliable information, a good night’s sleep. These weren’t very _good_ jokes, all things considered, but some days they were the best she could come up with. Save for the comment about the messaging crystals, they were only jokes—but once upon a time, before her world changed at the Exalted Council, it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say she’d give up a limb to see him again.

Since the Council, that wish had come true many times over, and she was beginning to wonder if she could take it back.

Dreams had been uncomfortable ever since horrors poured into the waking world, but she remembered a time when they were simply dreams, not… whatever they were now. There had been no _presence_ to watch her then, and certainly no glimpses of a great, six-eyed wolf slinking in corners.

She hoped it was guilt that kept him from showing his true face.

Whatever his reasons, they didn’t help her. She could sense him in dreams, but she couldn’t reach out or call to him or get him to cough up plans, troop movements, updates. She was no mage, to make sense of the Fade. She was no mage—but she had friends in magey places.

Like Dorian, currently sounding exasperated on the other side of their messaging crystal link.

“This may be a sensitive subject,” he said, “but do you think that, perhaps, the god-being predating my _empire_ , who wanders the Fade as a hobby, might outclass you no matter how hard you try to navigate the Fade?”

“That sounds like the kind of thing a loser would think,” she said. She tossed her crystal, caught it. “Are we losers, Dorian?”

“In the grand scheme of things?” he asked, in a tone that answered: _yes, definitely._ From anyone else the pessimism would rankle, but with Dorian it was par for the course. If he started acting optimistic, she’d worry.

“So can you help, or not?” she asked.

“Ellana…”

“Yes?”                                                                                                    

“He might be doing this on purpose. To feed us the wrong information.”

 _Now who’s poking sensitive subjects?_ she thought, catching the crystal again. She was at her desk, feet propped up, watching the sunset wash the world outside in shades of gold. It wasn’t Skyhold—her view was of a bush and a slice of the village square—but nothing ever would be again. It was another thing to resent Solas for, though she supposed it cancelled out; he’d been the one to bring them all to Skyhold in the first place.

“Ellana?”

“He underestimates me,” she said resolutely. “He underestimates everyone.”

“You’re saying you don’t _think_ it’s a trap.”

“For it to be a trap, he’d have to be trying to catch me. We haven’t done a thing worth fighting us over—not that he knows of.”

The message crystal caught Dorian’s sigh, and she smiled. It was the sound of a man about to give in; she’d heard it many times before.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll try to help you navigate the Fade—but I’m still only a lowly human mage, remember.”

She laughed sourly. “I’d take you over my old Fade expert any day.”

Dorian was silent for too long at that, and the smile on her face stiffened. She didn’t want him to say whatever he was about to say; the quality of the silence told her to interrupt, but her spit was too thick in her throat. She couldn’t force any words past it.

“Would you now?” he said, voice very soft. Sympathetic. Her pretence, that purpose could outstrip pain, hadn’t convinced him. It convinced no one, apparently.

“I thought we banned heart-to-hearts,” she said. It had been his own decree after he’d drunkenly rant-sobbed about his father one night.

“You should talk to someone. I’m someone.”

“I talk to lots of people.”                                                                  

“How long since you said his name? Out loud?”

She pursed her lips. What did it matter if she said his name? He visited her in dreams, and every waking moment was spent trying to counter his efforts. It wasn’t like she was avoiding thinking about him.

“Sera!” she said suddenly. She’d talked about Solas with Sera, on the last visit to their decoy base near Val Royeaux. “I said it to her. A fortnight ago.”

“Convincing her not to stick an arrow in his eye? Emotional stuff.”

“I don’t want Sera going up against him any more than I want you or anyone else to. Not for his sake, Dorian. You saw the Qunari statues. Perhaps it tires him out, but it didn’t seem to. Until we can counter his magic, I won’t risk a soul. Not in a frontal assault.”

“I wasn’t volunteering, my friend. I just meant conversations with Sera have a certain… timber.”

 _Yes_ , Ellana thought. A timber that insisted unwanted feelings were best solved with aggression; that suited Ellana for now.

“I told her I expected him to have agents in the Red Jennies,” she said. _Fat lot of good that’ll do him_ , Sera had responded. Ellana smiled in remembrance. “She wasn’t concerned.”

There was another long silence. She could hear Dorian consider the pros and cons of continuing this line of inquiry, of re-broaching heart-to-heart material. To her relief, he decided against it.

“The Fade, hm?” he said, and his voice had lost that painful softness, gaining a business-like edge. “Well. The first step is to realise you’re dreaming. There are a few ways to do that…”

 

* * *

  

Often, her dreams were of Skyhold: white peaks in the distance, an endless expanse of sky, a promise of safety. Longing filled her dream-throat. Back in Skyhold, they’d all been forged to one purpose, but at the Exalted Council Solas had showed her the organisation couldn’t be sustained, not without always tipping her hand to him. They’d left Skyhold, taking what valuables could be carried, but it still called to her in dreams. Today, in this particular dream, Morrigan was turning into a spider in the garden, and Ellana needed to drain her fangs of venom or she’d be a spider forever.

Step one: realise she’s dreaming. Check.

Once Ellana recognised her dream for what it was, Morrigan-the-spider disappeared. She was left wandering Skyhold alone, the faceless crowd in her dream slipping away. It seemed to be early autumn in the dream, the air thick with the loamy scent of decay. She left the garden, wandering familiar halls until she was near the practice yard. The world warped, but Dorian had been right; the Fade liked to let itself be shaped. As long as she focused, she could traverse this Skyhold as if it were a real place, minus the fact that she had to remember a cold wind into being, and the sound of her footfalls, and anything more than sight and form.

Minus that, it was like a real place.

Presences nearby captured her attention, but they were only spirits. She wondered if they’d tell on her; after all, they were likely on different sides of this war. If Solas got his way, these spirits would roam the waking world freely, perhaps less prone to becoming twisted from their purpose. They probably wanted that freedom, insofar as spirits wanted things.

“He’s not good at damage control, you know,” she warned them. Her voice sounded odd—loud and still, where Skyhold’s ever-present wind should have snatched it away. “Ideals don’t make up for a complete lack of foresight. Maybe you’ll get sucked through another hole in the sky, and all he’ll do is feel sad about it. Leaders need a plan B—and a plan C through F, if at all possible. They need good advisers. I don’t think he has them. I’m the safe bet, if you’re the betting sort.”

Some of the spirits approached, interested, their translucent forms rippling into other ones, and she clamped her mouth shut. What would she attract in her current state? A spirit of vengeance? But no; among the strange forms the spirits resolved into a familiar face took shape.

“Oh, Cole,” she said, her heart twisting. “You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not… _trying_ to be here,” Cole said, sounding confused. “Did you want to find me?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just experimenting. I was…” _explaining to a bunch of spirits why they should pick me and not Solas_. Perhaps the compassionate thing would be for Cole to put her out of her misery. She sighed. “Sorry, Cole. No, you can go. I’m exploring Skyhold.”

He looked around. “This is Skyhold?”

The dream flickered. For just a moment, she saw what she often saw—the lifeless plain that haunted her dreams, cracked earth beside a ravine. Often, a wolf stood on the other side of that ravine, present but unreachable. She focused on Skyhold, and reformed the practice yard.

“I’m making it Skyhold,” she said. “Dorian’s teaching me to navigate the Fade.”

“You are not a mage,” Cole said, sounding interested—and then he passed from _interest_ to _excitement._ “But you’re good at this!”

She smiled. Once, her decisions had shaped the world; perhaps it was good practice for the Fade.

“I think I’ll look in the prison,” she said, gesturing at the door. “Maybe my subconscious mind has put someone interesting there.”

She made for the cells, and Cole followed. Perhaps he had nowhere else to be, and she was happy enough to have a friendly face nearby, even if that friendly face had a habit of saying disconcerting things. For now he was silent, looking around. She passed empty prison cells. There was no guard, and she moved into the next room, where the floor had given out. She kept to the left planking, but if she’d hoped to find Solas pacing in one of the cells she would have been disappointed. She looked at the cells on the other side, all empty as well. A white abyss yawned out beneath them, snow and snow and snow. It was dazzling.

“If I jump will I fall?” Cole narrated. He looked at her. “No. You will fly.”

She grinned. “Today’s looking up.”

He smiled back, waiting for her to say more, and she gazed at the hole in the floor. Now that she had Cole’s attention, perhaps asking a few questions wouldn’t be so bad.

“Cole,” she said. She didn’t look at him. “You won’t tell him, will you? What I do and think?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He paused for a moment—and then came the part she’d really rather avoid. “Hurt and home, home and hurt—but nothing’s home, and it’s _his_ fault.”

“I miss being too shiny for you to read.”

“You’re still shiny.”

 _Still shiny_. That had to be a lie. “I don’t want you to tell him,” she said. “It’s important that you don’t. Can I ask that of you?”

“You can ask.” Cole considered her. “You don’t want to know what he does?”

Her attention caught on that concept—of Cole spying for her instead of her spying for herself. She tried not to seem too intense, even as the world became sharp and real around her. A cold wind was funnelled up into the prison, blown along the slope to tear at her hair, Cole’s hat. She met Cole’s gaze.

“I’d love to know what he does.”

Cole nodded slightly, and his eyes unfocused. His monologuing voice droned into being. “The past is only the past, a shadow of things, not real, not in his power to change. It used to be safe, but now it’s not. It has _her_ in it, and she’s real. She still is, somewhere. Shouldn’t look. Not good to look. Looking won’t help, it will _hurt_ , but it’s so hard not to.”

 _Ah_. She should have known better than to think Cole would have concrete information like who Solas’s top agents were, his safehouses, his progress in creating something strong enough to take down the Veil. Once during battle, a badly executed move had landed her on the ground and a Templar had stepped on her chest, thinking her dead. This felt remarkably similar: unrelenting pressure punched into her chest. _Looking won’t help._ She remembered all the dreams, his presence.

“I’m sorry,” Cole said. “That didn’t help, did it?”

She smiled, trying to bury the parts of her that cared about what he’d revealed. “Not quite. I don’t want the people I love to die, Cole. I was hoping to spy on him, to find out what he’s doing. To stop him.”

“He wants to be wrong.”

Ellana clenched her teeth. She didn’t need to hear that in Cole’s broken voice to know it was true; Solas had told her that himself. He’d wanted her to convince him, but he kept his distance. He would destroy them all without ever giving her a chance to speak. He wanted to be wrong, but he wouldn’t let her put him in a room with all the people who mattered—with Josephine, and Varric, and Dorian, and Sera, and a hundred other people who deserved to live. She wanted him to explain to them why they should die, why they were an acceptable sacrifice. She sure as hell couldn’t explain it; she’d die a hundred times over to save any one of them.  

“You still love him,” Cole said. “And it hurts. But you can’t forget. You won’t let me make you forget.”

“No,” she agreed. “And what I loved was…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase it. A fiction, a shadow, a lie.

“Real,” Cole said.

“Debatable, Cole.”

He watched her. Cole never made the experience of being looked at easy, but she was used to his scrutiny. He was young; she would help him understand the world if she could. Though he fumbled, his intentions were pure.

“I should go,” Cole said suddenly, and the next moment he disappeared, never finishing the thought she’d seen forming. She blinked at the space he’d occupied a moment ago. Was that supposed to happen?

She sat, drawing her knees up and hugging them. All her excitement at the thought of flying had drained from her, though the opportunity was still there. She could be like one of Leliana’s crows, soaring away from Skyhold. She’d wanted to sometimes, back when this was home—but now she just wanted Skyhold back. She wanted the heavy wood of her war table, the scent of Josephine’s perfume pervading the ambassador’s room, the clatter and noise of the tavern. She wanted Bull lounging and Sera pranking and Cassandra hitting—

“The prison,” a voice said. “An apt choice.”

All her insides clenched up.

“I only came here once,” he added.

She looked up, the muscles along her spine tightening in a vice grip. Solas stood on the other side of the chasm, next to the cells opposite. His hands were clasped behind his back, his garb the same as it had been within the endless maze of eluvians.

“Guilty conscience?” she asked. “Or afraid I’d toss you in one day?”

If she didn’t mention the oddity of him being here, of him speaking to her, perhaps he wouldn’t leave.

“Would you like to?” he asked. “Toss me in, I mean.”

“Depends. Would any cell hold you?”

“As I was? It is likely you could have devised some mechanism to hold me. As long as my agents were thwarted, you might have kept me imprisoned indefinitely.”

He was finally here, finally looking back at her with his own face—but she bent her head, pressed her knees against her closed eyes and welcomed the dark. She could have stopped him. If she’d taken the time to think, if she’d been more suspicious of the elven apostate who knew too much, who wasn’t Dalish or alienage bred, she might have saved them all before he became a danger. She’d failed, like she’d failed in so many other, lesser ways. A mist of regret ran through her veins in place of blood.

_It’s not too late. He can still be stopped._

“Ah,” Solas said, and she looked up. Skyhold’s prison was gone, and they were in the Fade as she knew it: green, bleak, full of floating rocks. The chasm of the sunken floor was a ravine again, and Solas stood on the other side of it. She remained seated.

“Is this where you turn into a wolf and disappear?” she asked.

“If you wish it.”

Anger flared hot in her chest. “When has what I wish ever entered the equation?”

He bent his head at that, mouth tight with misery. The fact that his quest brought him no joy whatsoever didn’t make things easier. At least Corypheus had done her the service of delighting in his cause as he worked against her.

 _This is what you wanted,_ she reminded herself, before resentment could rob her of opportunity. _He’s finally listening._

Or, well—he could hear her. Whether he listened was up to him.

“I don’t wish it,” she said. Vulnerability thinned her voice. She had a thousand questions, but when one rose to her lips, it wasn’t what she expected.

“How are you?” she heard herself ask.                                            

From his sharp exhale, he hadn’t expected that question either. He looked lost for a moment, then steadied. “I am—healthy.”

She laughed. Yes, that about summed it up. Constantly fatigued, heart a mess, always on the edge of a breakdown—but _healthy._

“And you?” he asked. Her laughter had softened him; she could see it in his posture, hear it in the particular brand of hesitation that crept into his voice. 

“Minus an arm,” she said, waving her stump. “But healthy, same as you.”

He smiled. “You’ve adjusted well. If you hadn’t, your arm would still be here in the Fade. Your mind would create one.”

The familiar tone was a punch in the stomach; it was the same way he’d talked three years ago, the same pattern of praise and information, the role of teacher coming easily to him. She could smell the rotunda: paint, dust, his scent. It crawled through her, filled her; she took a deep breath but couldn’t dispel it, and the silence lengthened enough for the levity on his side to drop as well. Perhaps he sensed the shift in her mood, regretting his easy words.

“It’s not so bad,” she said stiffly, not wanting the conversation to drop. She still wanted information from him. She’d planned to trail him in the Fade, but he’d been the one to find her. Would he tell her things if she asked?

A direct approach would save time, if nothing else.

“So,” she said, stepping away from her pain. “Do you plan to leave me a list of your generals and safehouses? It was my name day a few weeks ago, and you’re due me a present. Three, if we’re counting the backlog. Well—all right. I’ll count the anchor thing as one. Two, then. Two name day gifts.”

“The anchor should not be counted. My orb put it there.”

“Fine. Back to three it is.”

He paced, still on his side of the ravine. For a weak, terrible moment she wondered if he’d cross that space if she asked. She hated him—he was trying to destroy everything she loved—but it didn’t stop her from wanting to touch him, from wanting him to make her forget they were at odds. She was grateful to pride for keeping that request from her tongue.

“You want information,” he said.

“Among other things.”

“Then it should interest you to know that three moderate Magisters are plotting against Dorian and his allies. They plan to murder one of the new Lucerni and frame another. Their names—”

“Ah,” she interrupted, before he could finish and consider the debt paid. “Information about your organisation, please. Not the Magisterium.”

“They are a threat to your cause.”

“Dorian has his resources—and the situation in Tevinter is tangential to my own cause. Your organisation is not.”

He stopped pacing. “Then ask me a question.”

She wouldn’t waste another on _how are you_ , that was for sure. “What are you telling the elves who join you? Do they know they’ll die?”

“I tell them the truth,” he said. She waited, and he added: “Mostly.”

“There’s the Solas we all know and love.”

His breath gusted out. “This was a bad idea.”

“A habit of yours,” she agreed. She stood. “What made you show yourself? Now, out of all those times?”

“I was curious. Your presence in the Fade was different.” He looked around. “For a non-mage to accomplish what you did is rare, but you have always exceeded expectations.”

“Thank you,” she said, not quite meaning it. She mirrored him in his pacing now. “Did you see Cole?”

“Cole was here?”

“Back at Skyhold. Yes.”

He shook his head. “Cole goes where he pleases. I see him often enough.”

She thought of the way Cole said _hurt_ , his little rant about the past. She let out a long breath, knowing why he was drawn to Solas. At least they were united in pain and a need for compassion, if nothing else.

“Do the spirits have sides? Would they pick yours over mine?”

“I would never make them. Spirits aren’t the same as people. Corrupting them from their purpose is an offense, a crime against nature. I hope you will not attempt it.”

That was good news; she could trust him not to use spirits, at least. She folded her arm across herself. “And people? They can be lied to?”

“Their essence is both less and more permanent. They have it within them to change without warping. The crime is… lesser.”

“Solas.”

He looked at her then. His hands fell to his sides, empty, and she almost wished she could comfort him. He was an enemy, a traitor. He’d lied, used the Inquisition for his own purpose—but if she wanted him to suffer, she had her wish. He was suffering.

It infuriated her. She wanted him to change his mind, not _be sad_. Being sad had never saved anyone.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she said.

It had been the wrong thing to say. His shoulders came up. “I wish that were true, vhenan.”

 _Vhenan_ again. Nice to know that… well. Not nice to know, really.

She looked away. “And my name day gifts?”

“I believe I’ve answered enough questions. I don’t wish to endanger more of your people by having them intersect with my own.”

Ah well—it had been worth a try. She’d learned a thing or two, at least, even if she wasn’t sure any of it was relevant. “Ma serannas, then. For what you did tell me.”

He looked at her, undone by faint politeness, by _’ma serannas_. He was easier with her resentment; he knew what to do with it.

Good to know.

“Can we do this again?” she asked.

“I do not think that is wise.”

He didn’t think it was wise, but he was still here. He’d satisfied his curiosity with regards to her and the Fade, and he was still here. If only she’d had time to prepare for this opportunity instead of being blindsided! What would Josephine advise? Leliana? Before she could come to a decision, he took a step back.

No, no, no. She still had questions—she wasn’t ready—

Frustration tore her from the Fade before he’d even said goodbye, though she’d seen the words forming. She woke in the dark, in her cottage by the Waking Sea. She was shivering, but not with cold; it was the shock of manipulating the Fade, and then of seeing him, and then of—failing to do more. Again.

She reached for the crystal on her nightstand, wrapping her bed-warm hand around it. It had been weeks since Dorian’s first instruction on traversing the Fade, and there was no reason to think he was up and awake in Tevinter, but—

“Yes?” came Dorian’s sleep-thick voice.

“Dorian,” she breathed. Relief poured through her; she wasn’t alone. Much as she liked Leliana and her people, she didn’t want to wake them in the middle of the night to discuss Solas, not rattled as she was. She’d share what she’d learned with them later.

“Are you all right?” He sounded more awake now, alerted by her tone.

“Yes—yes it worked, Dorian. I made Skyhold, and I saw Cole, and then—” she took a breath, forced his name out “—then Solas.”

Dorian’s silence was telling. Eventually he said, “Well.”

“I tried to press him for information. He deflected, talked about a plot against the Lucerni. Will you be careful? He said _three moderate Magisters_ but I stopped him before he gave their names, didn’t want him to think it counted—”

“Slow down. Yes, people are always plotting against my little group. I believe I know the malcontents he’s talking about, though it’s nice to have an outside source. You needn’t worry about me.”

That was a relief. She’d thought as much—but she would have felt terrible if she’d been wrong.

“That went a bit differently than either of us expected, by the sound of things,” Dorian said, inviting her to continue. “He came to you. Talked to you.”

“Yes. Cole said… it’s hard for him to keep away. I’m not sure it’s possible for me to spy on him, since he’d likely notice me before I could find out anything useful, but I’ll keep trying.”

Dorian was silent for a long moment. “Have you considered you might be going about this the wrong way?” he asked at last.

“Of course I have,” she said defensively. She wasn’t sure she should even be messing with the Fade, not when Solas had the advantage there. Dorian had already posited that he might be using the dreams for his own ends. But—

“He’s still in love with you, isn’t he?” Dorian asked.                                                

 Her thoughts stilled. “What?”

“Not _what_ , Ellana. Is he or isn’t he?”

“I believe so, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Not if you don’t _use_ it,” Dorian said. “I take back what I said before. He _is_ underestimating you if he thinks he can just show up and not give anything away. Riles me up.”

She laughed, surprised. Dorian had gone from sleepy to gravely insulted in no time flat. Was he annoyed on her behalf?

“Do I bat my eyelashes?” she asked. “‘ _Please, Solas, don’t destroy the Veil. Pretty please, for me?’_ You may have forgotten, but he walked away from me telling me to have a nice life—what remained of it. I don’t think my womanly wiles are the key here.”

“Yes, and I’m sure your promise to stop him through any means necessary was _delightful_ for him to hear. Nothing says romance like _I’m coming after you with murderous intent_. Talk to Leliana. Ask her what she thinks. If she thinks I’m being an idiot—and I know she’d tell you if she did—you have my permission to go on playing spy. But I think there are better ways.”

“Wiley ways.”

He laughed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’m not saying you can seduce him into agreeing with us, but perhaps you could nudge him in the right direction. Knock him off his path a bit, enough for us to stop him.”

 _Nudge him in the right direction_ , she repeated to herself, musing. If the year they’d had together hadn’t nudged him, what could she do now? She couldn’t stand her own longing; how could she bear to hint at it to Solas, that she still… wanted? Still felt?

But if it could make a difference, how could she afford not to?

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I’m hardly an actress.”

“Come now. You enchanted legions of humans with your deeds, despite being a demon-worshipping Dalish. You know what things to say and not to say.”

“Yes, downplaying my cultural heritage in order to save the world _was_ a delight. I’m glad we can bring that theme back in exciting new ways.”

“I think you’ve made it clear you’d kill him if you had to. Take a leaf from his book: confess you’d rather not. You _would_ rather not, wouldn’t you? Or have I misread the situation?”

“You haven’t.” She sighed. “Then again, I might not get the opportunity to tell him anything. If he avoids me now, I have no way to track him down.”

“Hm. I wouldn’t be surprised if—with some practice—you found you could. No latch on the door, as it were.”

“He’s locked me out pretty comprehensively before.”

“And before, you didn’t know who he was. He was misleading you. Now you know. If you still seek him out, knowing what he is, what he plans…”

“You’re saying he wants my approval?” It was ridiculous, impossible—but something about it sounded… well, not completely off-base.

“It’s just a guess. Talk to Leliana. See what she says. We may avert the end of the world yet. Now, if we’re quite done, I’d like to avert dark eye circles. You can tell me more in the morning.” He paused. “No, the afternoon. Never liked mornings.”

“I will. Thank you, Dorian.”

“You’re welcome. I do appreciate the world continuing to exist, you know.”

She smiled. “Most of us do. Sweet dreams.”

“To you as well.”

The crystal’s light dimmed, and she set it aside. It was still dark, but she judged it to be closer to dawn than sunset. In a few hours, the abandoned village they’d adopted as headquarters would wake. Leliana would be up; messengers in the form of birds and people would spill quietly into the village, and another day would go by. Their coastal location had been picked for that reason: its accessibility, rather than its defensibility. Kirkwall and Val Royeaux were equally close from here, this secret hub of her non-organisation, and anything they couldn’t hunt they could get in nearby Jader. The village’s secrecy was guarded by decoy headquarters near Val Royeaux, where a city elf from Kirkwall with Ellana’s vallaslin and general colouring and a fake prosthetic over her real arm pretended to run the show, aided in this pretence by a very real Sera. As far as Ellana knew, Solas and his agents were fooled.

If she dreamt too much, would he know where she really was? Not to mention—would he care?

She pulled her blankets back up, shivering. It was early spring, the winter finally at an end, but the cottage leaked heat even with the shutters closed. She tucked the covers firmly about herself and closed her tired eyes, not caring now if she fell back asleep. Rest was its own reward, and she had plenty things to think about with her eyes closed. Eventually, though, sleep pulled at her.

She wasn’t sure whether she was excited to dream more or terrified that she might. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vhenan - heart


	2. Chapter 2

“I wonder what ‘ _the truth, mostly’_ is,” Leliana said. “What lie of omission can we expose? What can we reveal that those fighting on his side don’t already know?”

“Perhaps he convinces them there’s a way for them to live,” Ellana said. They stood side by side over the war map, arms folded. Harding and Charter were out, rendering this meeting little more than a catch-up, and Ellana was grateful for the unexpected privacy. “That they can be the chosen ones, selected to live in this bright elven future.”

“Maybe there is a way. Are we sure?”

“I think… I think if there _was_ a way for people to survive, he would have told us.” 

Leliana’s gaze was sharp. “Because he would have offered it to you?”

“Not to me personally—” she hoped he didn’t think her that self-interested “—but I don’t think he’d be so… grim, if there was. He sounded sure, that this would kill my people. If there was any opportunity to save them, I think he would have told me.”

Leliana sighed. “Speaking of your history with Solas, I’ve been wondering if rumours of your involvement would help our cause. If the people answering his call were to find out you were together during the Inquisition, will they believe our word over his?”

“I don’t know,” Ellana said, deciding not to comment on the distastefulness of having her romantic past laid bare. “They might just think he was manipulating me more effectively, as many already do. It’s hard to guess their motivation for helping him regardless. They’re flocking to a trickster god. Every legend we have ought to work against him, but he doesn’t seem the least bit hindered his image.”

“People flock to power, and he has plenty of that. I will see what we can do in nearby alienages.” Leliana bent forward to move pieces around the map, recording actions to set about later. “I wish we could utilise you more—send you out, have you meet with clans.”

“Perhaps on my next venture to the decoy base; I can go to the clans near Val Royeaux, and people will believe in Not-Ellana all the harder for my visit there.”

“I’ll arrange it,” Leliana said. She looked at the map a while longer, then rocked back on her heels. “I believe that concludes our business.”

For some reason, Ellana felt the absence of Josephine and Cullen harder than usual just then, perhaps because of the Skyhold dream. They were just as essential to her Nonquisition as they had been to the Inquisition, of course, but they did so from different bases. It felt… lonely.

She took a steadying breath. “There was one other thing,” she said, reluctant.

“Does it require the map?”

She shook her head, and Leliana motioned at the door. “Then let us enjoy the sea breeze while we discuss it.”

They walked out into watery sunlight, Leliana’s sigh of relief making Ellana look at her in surprise. Leliana’s eyes closed for a moment, head tipping back; light washed the violet beneath her eyes, the lines around her mouth. She’d been looking tired lately, more tired than even Ellana felt. Perhaps she really was ready to retire to nug-breeding and gossip; why couldn’t this world let good people take a break? This was the fourth world-threatening disaster in Leliana’s lifetime, pulling her back into the fray just as things began to look stable. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ve a mind to wander, Inquisitor,” Leliana said, eyes opening. “Shall we walk?”

Ellana nodded, not commenting on Leliana’s use of the old title. It was always _Inquisitor_ with Leliana, even now; there was probably some psychological reason for it, something designed to make Ellana perform better, but since it was Leliana manipulating her and not some hostile force, Ellana was willing to let it happen.

They walked, passing out of the village to the path fishermen had cleared in years past. It brought them to the cliffs where they could look out over the Waking Sea, the water fairly calm today. A brisk wind reminded Ellana not to get too comfortable, though given today’s subject matter it needn’t have bothered.

She took a deep breath and began. “Dorian thought I should talk to you about… ah. The dreams. If I can make them happen again, that is. Which isn’t guaranteed.”

The nervousness flickering in the pit of her stomach as she spoke annoyed her. Was it a betrayal to drop some of her animosity towards Solas? She’d promised to convince him this world was worth saving, after all, before fear had made her threaten him.

“What aspect of the dreams?” Leliana asked, her voice carefully neutral. She didn’t point out Ellana’s fumbling words. A Bard’s tact, for once, instead of the teasing that came so naturally to her.

“The… talking to Solas aspect. He thinks we’d get farther with… honey.”

Leliana hid a smile behind her hand, and Ellana fought against acute embarrassment. She should have worded it differently, or spoken with less hesitation.

“I apologise,” Leliana said. “Your expression…” She cleared her throat. “I had thought of it earlier, what you speak of, but it didn’t seem right to suggest it.”

“You held back? With the world at stake? I find that hard to believe.”

Leliana laughed. “I had my reasons. Your talent for deception is… mild, at best. Allowing willing believers to think you were sent by the Maker, yes, a white lie to a friend, yes—but this is a different playing field. You cannot offer some cheap seduction. He would know in an instant.”

“You’re saying it’s not worth trying,” Ellana said, curiously deflated. That made sense, she supposed. She was likely to give their position away, and—

“No! No, that is the opposite of what I mean.” Leliana looked at her, and it was as if they stood in the war room together, her gaze sharp, no longer drinking in the sun and air. It was as if the sun and air had dropped away entirely. “I am saying you would have to give of yourself, your real self, and that is something you would have to decide to do. Not me, and not Dorian.”

That was touching, in its way. “You’re not worried about me giving away all our secrets?”

“You will try not to. Perhaps that will be enough. If it is not… it pains me to say this, but we are not the likeliest victors in this silent war. We are in a race, and if we throw a stone from our position, it may hit Solas’s back. There is a chance it will fall short, however, because we are so far behind. That is our reality.”

Ellana put aside imaginings of Leliana throwing rocks at a running Solas to digest what she’d said. They weren’t in the lead. She knew that, but hearing Leliana say it made it more real. Her stomach twisted.

“I’m the rock?”

Leliana smiled. “The offer of your company is the rock. As you said, we do not know if he will come again. But if he does…”

“Don’t set myself up as his opponent.”

“You both know you are opposing each other,” Leliana said. “Pretending not to would only make him suspicious. But… yes. Bend a little. Give him hope.”

Ellana thought of the way he’d talked in the glade at their last parting, the weight of his sadness. She wasn’t sure he had it in him to hope, and if he did, it likely didn’t involve her. His hopes were for the world he might create, not this one. But the image of that race, Leliana lagging far behind Solas, rose in her mind. She would be the rock if she could.

“I’ll do my best,” she promised. “If he comes again.”

“It sounded as if your activity summoned him,” Leliana said. She was smiling. “It shouldn’t be hard for you to summon him a second time, Inquisitor; it’s in your nature.”

“Why is that?” Ellana asked.

“Because all you need do,” Leliana said, voice lowering conspiratorially, “is be interesting.”

She laughed. “Was that a compliment? You think I’m interesting?”

“All of Thedas thinks so. Why would I think differently?”

Leliana had lived as a Bard, had conquered a Blight with the Hero of Ferelden, had commanded an army of spies and assassins fit to make the strongest nations cower in fear—but sure, Ellana was interesting. She wasn’t sure whether to credit the joke or not, and as it turned out, she didn’t have to. While she stood wondering what to say a courier ship appeared on the horizon, the sails familiar. It lifted Ellana’s spirits to see, though perhaps it would sail right past. She and Leliana gazed out at it.

“Let’s take a bet,” Leliana said. “Sensitive news, certainly. But from Varric or Josephine?”

“Why stop at news? Perhaps it’s the next instalment of that serial from Antiva, the one you’ve been giggling about when you think no one can hear you.”

Leliana let out an exasperated sigh. “The walls are so thin here! But it’s a delicious series; you can borrow my copy. And I do not _giggle._ ”

“Are you sure you could part with it that long?”

“Only for a good friend.”

Ellana smiled, tempted by the offer. What Cassandra considered _smutty literature_ amounted to adventure stories with occasional kissing, but Leliana’s serials were the real thing: intrigue, deception—and sexually explicit scenes that made Ellana embarrassed to look people in the eye the next morning. They were usually absorbing stories, but with the real world in more danger than ever it was harder to invest in fictional worlds. Ellana no longer found herself riveted by the question of whether or not two fictional characters would clash in wild sexual frenzy by the end of a story; she hadn’t read any new publications since the Exalted Council, and stories about star-crossed lovers caught in a web of lies just didn’t have the same appeal they used to.

Still… maybe…

“I’ll leave the stack by your bed,” Leliana said, reading her expression.

 

* * *

 

 

The serial Leliana promised arrived at her bedside before nightfall, but went unread; somehow, even though so much of Ellana’s life now consisted of waiting for news, free time was hard to come by. There was always something to do or think about, especially now they didn’t have an army of willing servants to see to inconsequentials. The people they had did what they could, but the work was endless. Sometimes Ellana amused herself thinking of what her old allies would say knowing the former Inquisitor helped with laundry duty nowadays.

Perhaps, she thought, she could commission Dagna for a washboard prosthetic attachment. It’d make her one of the most efficient scrubbers their base had seen, though Vivienne would probably kill her for even considering it.

_The world may think you’re retired_ , Vivienne had said last time they spoke, _but you must never let it think you’re powerless. You are the former Inquisitor, and you have earned the respect of legions, even if the Maker’s mark is no longer upon you._

Ellana wished people would stop calling it the Maker’s mark; the irony was too cruel. It had been Solas’s orb, Solas’s magic, Solas’s mark.

She kept her objections to herself.

Tonight, like many nights, she fell asleep still planning. Her mind was filled with tasks, lists, information she was lacking. Tired as she was, she’d expected to fall into a dreamless, fitful doze, the way she often did—but instead, she dreamt.

Or rather, she was pulled into dreaming.

“You wanted help,” she heard Cole say, and it sounded like she was underwater hearing him speak from a great distance—and then she was in Skyhold by the practice ring, where she’d met him last night. He didn’t appear, but she knew he’d been the one to deposit her sleeping mind in this place, gifting her the awareness she’d despaired of achieving by herself. It had taken her weeks to follow Dorian’s advice on achieving lucidity in dreams, and now Cole had taken the problem out of her hands.

She always appreciated the help of old friends.

“Be interesting,” she said to herself, looking around. She wondered what Solas would consider interesting. Should she go to his rotunda, paint a moustache on his depiction of Corypheus? Should she do cartwheels around the keep? But no—it had been her manipulation of the Fade that interested him, not what she did in it, so it was time to leave Skyhold. For where? Where was _interesting_?

A thought rose in her mind, unwelcome as a Blight. Recreating a valley in the Emerald Graves or some lake in the Hinterlands would hardly arouse interest; it would just look like playing around, as surely as drawing moustaches on artwork would. Her first aware trip through Skyhold had been intense. If intensity drew Solas, there were a few places she could conjure up—but one outstripped the others.

With reluctance, she pictured it. The large eluvian, the cliff overlooking a castle, the fallen leaves, the statues of Qunari warriors, even the low angle of the sun. Skyhold fell away, and the glade where she’d last seen Solas blazed into life as if it had been waiting for her to find it. It was beautiful, she supposed, but it was linked to pain and desperation, and nothing she did would unlink it. It was hard to breathe; her nerves jangled with remembered pulsing from the Anchor. She didn’t let herself wonder what she’d do if this didn’t draw him. If his self-control was strong enough to stay away even when curiosity tugged at him, there wasn’t much she could do.

Unless there was. Could she go after him, the same way he pursued her through dreams?

“Why here?”

She froze, breath stalled. Leliana had been right.

That had not been difficult at all.

She turned, and saw their positions were reversed. He approached from the same direction she had, while she stood by and watched from above. Their actions mirrored each other’s, recalling the Exalted Council, but Solas wasn’t dying from foreign magic, and she wasn’t planning the end of the world. It was a familiar scene, but one that didn’t quite work in reverse.

“I wanted to see you again,” she said.

“And you must do so here?”

“Take us somewhere else, then. If you want.”

He hesitated a moment. She wondered if he’d disappear, curiosity sated—but after a short silence all he asked was, “Where would you like to go?”

“Somewhere I’ve never been. A place you would have showed me, if you could.”

There was something vulnerable about the look he sent her at that, but she didn’t have long to think about it. After a moment he jerked his head in a nod, and the world reformed into a tapestry of colours, resolving into trees, distance, water—lots of water. They stood on either side of a river at the top of a waterfall, the world below a swathe of green and pink and silver. Not colours she expected in nature, exactly, but there was nothing unnatural about the view, nothing that rang false in her dreaming mind. It was a pleasant, sunny day, birds singing, but the roar of the falls was artificially dimmed, and it lent the scene an air of stillness. Solas wanted to be able to speak and be heard, had altered the memory for the sake of it.

Promising.

Neither of them spoke, though, not for a long time. She looked around, seeing the spires of elegant buildings in the distance, beyond the trees—but they were far away. This was nature as she’d never experienced it, the air perfumed with something similar to jasmine but sweeter. Clean water, loam, flowers. It wasn’t so different from a nice, early summer evening in her world, but she wasn’t sure how to mention that to Solas without immediately tipping her hand, revealing that she was trying to work an angle: _don’t destroy my world, it’s not as bad as you think_.

She looked at him watching her from the other side of the river. His hands were clasped behind his back again, waiting for her to speak.

“Before the Veil, I take it?” she asked.

He nodded. “An approximation.”

She tried to pick a neutral topic, hoping to keep his interest—to draw him into conversation. Hearty discussion had always pleased him. “Did the changes in nature shock you, when you woke? The different plant life, different animals?”

“Many things are similar. Nature is still beautiful, even with its connection to the Fade ripped away.”

“And people?” she couldn’t help asking. How could the nature be the same, but people weren’t?

“I told you already. At first, it was like waking to a world of tranquil.”

“People were different than they had been.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“But there were still spirits.”

“Yes. And they are wonderful. But if you woke a thousand years from now and found our people dwindling to nothing, yet dwarves were still flourishing, would your sorrow at the loss not outweigh your joy at the dwarves’ hearty good fortune?”

It amused her that he had picked dwarves, of all races. They were the least spirit-like of all, unconnected to the Fade. “Depends,” she said. “How many of the dwarves give me nicknames and tell me stories?”

She watched him, and was satisfied at the pain that flashed across his features. Solas and Varric hadn’t always agreed, but there was some measure of affection there—or had been.

“Varric is doing well,” she said into lengthening silence. “Pretending to dislike being a Viscount. He gave me some sort of key to Kirkwall’s harbour—one that works the giant nets. He thought it was ceremonial.”

“You think to sway me,” Solas said softly—sadly.

“I think to reconnect with you,” she said. “You said it was kinder in the long run not to get involved, but we’re already past that point. If you change the world, and I die, I won’t be there to regret whether or not I spent some of my last weeks or months or years talking to you. And—and if you’re avoiding me out of self-preservation, I think you owe me more than that.”

He looked at the river between them, shoulders raised defensively. “It’s… it’s not so soon. Not weeks.”

Something in her untwisted, relieved that they had that much time at least—but he didn’t say it wasn’t _months_. Could her world’s remaining time be measured in months? The thought was… disconcerting. Dying was one thing; the world ending was another. Would they all live to see autumn again? Winter?

It occurred to her that, after three years surrounded by snow, she might never see it again. An odd, saddening thought—but not as bad as the thought of losing her friends. Leliana with her scandalous serials, Varric with his entertaining updates, Dorian’s chuckle at the other end of the messaging crystal after a long day—there was so much to lose.

“So you’ll humour me?” she asked, sitting on the bank cross-legged. She’d looked her fill at the odd foliage. It was impressive, but it wasn’t quite real, no matter what it meant to him. She’d seen plenty of wonders of her own, and they’d happened in the waking world.

He looked down at her, taking in her relaxed posture. Perhaps he’d refuse—but she’d pressed on his guilt, and if she was right, it was guilt that drove him. It seemed a good tactic, underhanded but effective.

He sat.

“I was surprised when you disbanded your Inquisition,” he said unprompted. The words came faster than his usual statements, like they’d rushed from him against his will.

Curiosity. That was good.

“I needed more oversight. We were strong, but I know the organisation was riddled with your people. There are a lot of things I regret, but that isn’t one of them.”

“So you admit there is still an organisation of yours working against me.”

She arched a brow. “Was that ever in question?”

His smile made her chest feel tight. “No. But I’m relieved you don’t pretend it is.”

The tightness in her chest, even in a dream, was disconcerting. She pressed her hand against it, rubbing her sternum as if the feeling beneath it was an itch that would go away if she scratched it. It seemed wrong that a smile—and a heartfelt confession of relief—could hurt so much.

“Do you know where I am?” she asked without thinking.

“Ah. You press me for information. If I say yes, will you root around your camp for spies? Or will you attribute it to my power?”

“ _Is_ that a yes?”

“No. It is a maybe. Do you know where I am?”

_Tevinter_ , she thought, but shook her head. Their truce just now made it harder to maintain her perspective. It made her want to be in the same place so they could meet outside of a dream—but that was ridiculous. If they met outside of a dream, she ought to try and kill him. She owed it to her world, her people.

_But would you do it?_ a dark voice asked. _Could you go through with it?_

“Perhaps it is better not to speak of the present,” Solas said, echoing the direction of her own thoughts. She nodded.

“Will you answer my questions, then? About the past?”

“Where I believe them harmless, yes.”

He’d always enjoyed answering her questions. She took a deep breath of jasmine-scented air.

“How long was it before I stopped seeming… tranquil, to you?” she asked at last.

“You were different from the start. My magic was blooming inside of you. Killing you, yes—but I thought it awakened you as well. You disagreed, I remember.”

“The consequences of your magic changed me,” she said, remembering the conversation on the balcony. What had he asked? Whether the mark had changed her, her mind, her morals? He’d admitted— _at last_ —that he might have misjudged the Dalish. Her relief at hearing this, that he could call his dismissive notions into question, had made her giddy: the grumpy apostate, finally admitting he could be wrong about something. She’d kissed him, or he’d kissed her. She couldn’t quite remember who started it, only the fierce warmth in her chest and the relief that she wasn’t the only one who felt the tension between them, the give and take of smiles, murmured comments, assessing glances.

A more innocent time, by all accounts.

“Do you believe me now?” she asked. “That the mark wasn’t what changed me?”

“I believed you then. It was disconcerting.”

“It was easier to believe us thoughtless creatures, acting on instinct.”

“Yes. I tried to convince myself of that many times.”

His voice would be the undoing of her. She hated it—its low register, its cadences, how it tugged at something inside of her and told her to jump. She wanted to be on the other side of this damned river, and not just to throttle him for looking down on all the people she cared about. She wanted—she wanted—

There were too many things to want, and wanting them would only weaken her resolve.

“And the disparity in our ages?” she asked, almost teasing. “I thought you a decade or two my senior. At most.”

He laughed. She resented his laugh too, how it pulled at her to join, to smile. She bit her bottom lip and waited for him to answer.

“I agree to what you are so politely not saying. It was unacceptable for more reasons than one. I should have been utterly immune, but your warmth—your humour—it was like a port in the storm. It was selfish.”

Her body warmed. She had doubted, sometimes, whether his regard had been real. She’d feared he’d gone along with things to steer her further down a course he approved of—but the thought of all those moments of hesitation being caused by his own guilt gave her some solace. If they’d been an act, she would have lost something of herself.

Her pride, most likely.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” she said.

“Relieved? Shouldn’t you be angry that I didn’t resist? You know now why I should have.”

“It’s a notch in my belt. If the Veil evaporates tomorrow and I vanish into nothingness, at least I can say I tempted Fen’Harel into defying his better judgment. Well, I can’t say it, but it will have been true. Once upon a time.”

Solas hid his face behind his hands, knees drawn up. “These jokes, about the end—could we disallow them, for now?”

The ragged quality of his voice made her throat close up. _Already he mourns me_ , she thought with surprise. It should have satisfied her, given her some cruel pleasure, but it didn’t.

“Sorry,” she said. “Gallows humour. It’s become something of a habit in our—camp.”

“You’re so sure you’ll fail,” he said. “I wonder why you’re here at all.”

Was that a note of anger in his voice? He had some nerve. “You’re the one who walked into my dream.”

“You said you wanted to see me. This isn’t just some fancy of mine.”

Wasn’t it? He’d entered her dreams long before she’d thrown open the proverbial doors for him. He’d watched her, unbidden.

She let it go, just as she’d let a thousand other things go.

“I’m not sure of failure,” she said instead, pacifying. She thought of herself as that rock striking his back. “But on bad days, when your movements terrify us, we have to laugh. Otherwise we’ve already lost.”

“I apologise,” he said. “It is not my place to scold.”

“It’s not,” she said, “but I’m glad you’re not easy with it, all the same.”

He moved enough to meet her gaze, but only for a moment; he glanced away almost immediately. “Easy. No, that is not the word.”

Tightness in her chest made her shift; she kneeled on loamy ground, wondering what would happen if she stood, ran, swam across. He could disappear at any moment, but he was miserable, lonely—some part of her insisted that, if she could reach him, she could change his mind.

“It’s fine,” she said. “We’ll all change your mind, and this interlude will be—what was your phrasing?—entirely academic.”

“How will you change my mind?” he asked, his posture loosening. She heard hope now, in place of anger. _He wants to be wrong_ , she heard Cole say in her memory.

_Try_ , she thought. _This is your chance. Try._

“Hm,” she said. She pretended to ruminate on it, but she didn’t have to consider her words. She thought all the time about what she’d show him, if she could. “Wycome, for one. I’d show you the humans turning to my Keeper for advice, exchanging ideas. I’ve told them what we learned in your ruins, you know; I expect you thought I’d keep it a secret. But that’s a different story.” She smiled. “Perhaps I’d press one of Leliana’s terrible yet brilliant serials on you. The last one I read was called, ah…  What was it? _A Rogue, Not Just At Sea_. You can guess at the contents.”

“You would convince me with uneasy alliances and scandalous reading material?”

She held up her hand, not done. “I’d show you the sketches one of Cole’s former patients has been doing. He made her forget, but all her sketches are of a young man in a wide-brimmed hat standing in idyllic settings. I’d show you Cassandra’s terse missives, peppered with commands to her scribes.” Ellana cleared her throat, imitated Cassandra’s Nevarran accent: “‘Add a joke, will you? I cannot make this sound funny. You are good at these things, are you not?’ Then… I’d make you talk to Josephine’s sister Yvette. It’s so funny to see the pair of them together. Yvette is wild, will chase any notion that—well, maybe not Yvette. She has a thing for dangerous men. Wouldn’t want either of you to get ideas.”

Solas laughed, but there was little joy in it. “You needn’t worry on that account.”

No? She’d wondered, sometimes, whether he’d seek comfort somewhere else. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, whatever they’d become.

“You forget,” he said when the silence lengthened, “that I’ve seen your world. I’ve lived in it for years now.”

“Have you? You’ve been scheming in it, but you haven’t tried to make a life. It makes a difference: friends, a home.” _A lover_ , she didn’t add. She couldn’t bear to suggest what they’d almost been, for all his _vhenan_ s. Not after all this time.

“I’ve killed people for the same change of heart you would see in me.”

_Ah_. It was always harder to change someone’s mind after they killed for a cause. She was reminded of Warden Commander Clarel—but Clarel had faced her failings in the end, instead of hoisting up denial as a shield and blundering forward. Ellana looked him in the eye.

“That doesn’t mean your cause is right.”

“I had thought you disagreed with my methods, not my cause.”

Was he trying to gain her approval? Her forgiveness? What did it matter what she did and didn’t disagree with, when his mission made them enemies?

“I’m not sure I can even understand your cause,” she said. “The Creators were only ever symbols to me—legends to teach us right and wrong, to give us strength, to inspire. _You_ were a legend. Ancient Elvhenan…” she trailed off.

“You were an atheist?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. A pragmatist, maybe, more interested in the here and now than whether some god would approve of me or not. Not to mention that the Elvhenan described in stories bored me. I could barely sit through a two-hour lesson; the thought of debating something for decades in some stuffy hall would have sent me running for the hills.”

She wondered if he’d be offended, but when she glanced at him he was smiling. “I can see how you would think that.”

Her gaze fell to the water between them. “Perhaps I can’t love your world, and you can’t love mine.”

“It is not… love, or its absence, that spurs me. It is duty.”

She wasn’t sure how that worked. A duty to a world gone by? When she had time-travelled in Redcliffe, she had landed in a world ravaged by red lyrium, and everyone in it had helped her undo it. Solas had woken in a world made strange—but not one entirely devoid of redeeming qualities, she thought.

She shouldn’t have let him speak of duty. Though she hadn’t replied yet, he stood as if some signal had been given, and she panicked. Was this it, then? Their time done? With a start she stood too, hating herself for not having been more… whatever it was that would have convinced him.

_Womanly wiles_ , she heard herself joke to Dorian.

“Wait,” she said.

He looked at her sadly. “Perhaps I owe you answers, vhenan, but time is not endless.”

“For you it is,” she argued. She took a step forward, foot slipping in river muck before she righted herself. The cold reality of the water startled her. It didn’t feel like her Skyhold dream, where she’d had to remember every sensation—but perhaps the places Solas dreamed up were more vivid than hers. She took another step, intending to swim across. “You don’t have to go.”

“Stop, you will—”

She dove, and the current took her. It was cold, shockingly cold, but somehow she didn’t wake. Unfortunately, not waking meant she was headed for the waterfall they’d stood at the edge of, the current stronger than anticipated and the loss of her limb a greater handicap.

_Shit_. Dying in the Fade didn’t kill people, but she didn’t look forward to the terror of toppling down a waterfall regardless. Before she could tip over the edge, though, ground surged up beneath her feet. It lifted her to safety, forming a cradle, and when she’d filled her dream-lungs with air she moved to meet Solas’s gaze. He looked shocked, like the thought of her falling had scared him.

_You’ll kill me by your own hand, but you won’t see me suffer_ , she thought but did not say, almost pitying him. It was a strange kind of morality.

She glanced between her cradle and the far shore. Could she reach his side of the river if she jumped from here? And what would she do if she could? Fist her hand in his shirt, hold him there? And then what? Regale him with more stories about how boring she thought Elvhenan sounded?

No wonder he wanted to leave.

Perhaps he read the intent in her eyes, or else he saw the wisdom of disappearing before she could try something more. Whatever it was—whatever gave her away—he stepped back.

“Goodbye, Ellana.”

The waterfall disappeared. She was in the bleak landscape of the unformed Fade, her own edges less defined than they had been when Solas was still with her. He was gone.

“Damn it!” she yelled into the emptiness. Spirits would come, probably. Solas always said making a fuss in the Fade drew spirits, but she kicked her feet regardless, a child throwing a tantrum. She thought of Leliana saying she couldn’t just offer some cheap seduction—but Ellana wasn’t versed in _any_ kind of seduction. She’d hardened his resolve with her criticism. She’d made him speak of _duty_ , and the word sounded final.

Somehow she woke, and it was a relief. She was too frustrated to be asleep, and she was too frustrated to be alone, and Leliana was a light sleeper. Ellana stepped out of bed, pulled on the coat and leggings she’d worn throughout the day, and charged to Leliana’s cottage. When she burst in the door Leliana was already sitting up in bed, looking ready to pull any number of knives from beneath her pillow.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “I assume you have news—”

“No news. No _anything._ ” Ellana paced, waiting for the fire inside of her to calm. It didn’t. She was useless, useless, useless. Cole had swept her into a dream, Solas had come to her almost immediately—and nothing had changed. Their conversation had drifted aimlessly and circled back to point A. She looked at Leliana, jaw clenching. “We talked, and it changed nothing.”

“You can’t expect everything to change in a night—”

“You said I couldn’t offer some cheap seduction,” Ellana interrupted. “But if I was going to, how would I go about it? How would you counsel one of your agents?”

Leliana watched her, and Ellana would have given any number of prized possessions to know what was going on behind that shrewd gaze. What did she see? What suggestions rose up and were discarded? Ellana didn’t want carefully measured words; she wanted the truth. She wanted Leliana to arm her, somehow, so her next chance wouldn’t be wasted.

Leliana said nothing as she began to dress. When she’d pulled outerwear on over her nightgown, she turned back to Ellana.

“No agent of mine would be so green,” she scolded. “Where is the Dalish elf who charmed all of Halamshiral with her wit, despite the lowest of expectations? Did the Dread Wolf take your confidence, as well as your arm? Did he take all your years of experience?”

Ellana deflated, ashamed at her outburst, but Leliana set a finger beneath her chin to raise her face.

“No frowns, dear Inquisitor. If a plan is what you wish, a plan you shall have. I will put on the kettle.”

“The… kettle?” With the way Leliana had drawn herself up, Ellana had expected a map and figurines, maybe three overlapping lists and an itinerary. Not a boiling kettle.

“Of course!” Leliana said. She flashed a grin. “We will discuss everything.”

_Everything_. Now there was a word to make her stomach twist. “There’s not much to say. We’ve never even—”

“Don’t start yet. I am not sitting comfortably.” Leliana bent over the small, Orlesian stove she’d set in her fireplace instead of wood. “Go sit, and find yourself a blanket. Calm your mind. Think about what you spoke of tonight, and how he responded, so you will have a clear report for me when I am done. Can you manage that?”

“Of course,” Ellana said. She sat, resolving to stop acting like a surly child.

_You’re the former leader of the Inquisition_ , she reminded herself. Her shoulders loosened; her breaths came slower. _You control a network of agents who would give their lives to your cause still. You have friends in some of the highest places in Thedas._

She looked up at Leliana bustling about the one-roomed cottage, lighting a candle, picking through herbs for the infusion they’d drink while they talked.

_And you are not alone._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana attempts to seduce Solas with... chess?

Two weeks later found Ellana at the base near Val Royeaux, consigning her doppleganger to stay inside the mansion for the duration of her stay. Somehow, though the latitude didn’t vary greatly, _this_ base always seemed closer to the sun; spring here was lush, all-encompassing. It smelled like budding life, and she savoured heading into the woods to search for the nearest clan.

“Been practicing with the arm?” Bull asked, riding beside her. That the Chargers had been in town at the same time as Ellana had been a happy coincidence, but Bull had insisted on accompanying Ellana on her tour regardless—conveniently, as Sera was out on Red Jenny business. It was just the two of them, the threat level low.

“For the last time,” Ellana said, unable to suppress a smile, “I’m not going to commission a harpoon attachment.”

Bull held up his hands, guiding the large, terrifying mount he rode with his legs. “I didn’t even mention it!”

“You’ve been thinking about it though, haven’t you?”

He grinned. “Endlessly. I’m thinking of getting art commissioned. You, harpoon arm, a sea of enemies, thunder in the sky—just imagine it.”

The relish in his voice made her laugh. She almost wanted to call his bluff, to tell him to get the painting made and she’d hang it up in her house. _Almost_.

“The attachments I have suit me fine.” Currently she wore the Quickshot, a compact bow Dagna and Bianca had collaborated on. It was a feat of engineering and runecrafting at a level of craftsmanship virtually unheard of in their age—but it had taken her months to get used to it nonetheless, and if she used it wrong it still hurt. She couldn’t imagine the pain of a harpoon.

“Just telling you to consider it, Boss. Miss seeing you with a big ass stick is all.”

“I don’t have to carry a big stick to carry a big stick.”

He grinned. “Hey, mind if I borrow that?”

She sucked in a breath at his sly tone, the innuendo clear. That hadn’t been what she meant. “You’d be referring to…”

“You know it.”

It took all her self-control to clamp her mouth shut, not letting the amusement in her belly ring out. They were near where the Sarvel clan had last been seen, and she didn’t want them to catch her cawing like a crow at Bull’s lewd humour. She glanced around, as if her attention might summon the clan out of thin air. Nothing.

“They should be here,” she said.

“Could he recruit a whole clan, do you think?”

“This far from Tevinter it seems unlikely. Though, Orlais…”

“Elves anywhere have it bad,” Bull said. “Don’t take his success personally.”

“What, that they escape to him and not me? Why would I? I’m only an actual Dalish elf, instead of an ancient one who looks down on the Dalish as foolish children.”

They passed into a clearing, startling a bird—but still there were no aravels, no halla. Bull watched her.

“He give you that impression?” he asked.

“He thought it was impossible for the Dalish to raise someone like me. Or unlikely, I suppose.”

“You changed his mind on a lot of stuff,” Bull said. “Too bad. He’d be less popular if he was still… well, how he was at first.”

“He’s got agents,” Ellana said. “Maybe they’re charming.”

“I’m sure they are. Had plenty of them in our band.”

She clenched her jaw against the resentment that flashed at that reminder, and tried to breathe deeply. Being out here in the woods should have relaxed her, reminded her of her time in her clan, but the suspicious absence of Sarvel niggled at her, tightening the line of her shoulders.

“That’s what I hate the most,” she said. “He’s made me doubt my own kind— _exclusively_ my own kind. When I see a human, or a dwarf, or a Qunari, I don’t have to think _maybe they’re one of his_. But I see an elf…”

Bull raised an eyebrow. “Must be real hard, seeing someone like you and thinking _maybe they’re here to kill me_.”

She opened her mouth to argue Solas wasn’t sending people to kill her—then shut it abruptly. He wasn’t talking about her; he was talking about himself. Tal-Vashoth. She cleared her throat. “Sorry, Bull.”

“No offense taken,” Bull said. “But I’m here, if you need me.”

She nodded, grateful. They followed the sound of water to a stream, Dalish clan still nowhere in sight. She was almost ready to tell him they’d ride back when she spotted a halla.

“Ah, Bull! They could be nearby.”

They rode another ten minutes, following the halla—and there was an aravel, red cloth a banner under the canopy of widely-spaced trees. Ellana let out a sigh of relief, then called out a greeting.

“Andaran atish’an, my sister,” said an old elven man, appearing from the shadow of the carriage. “And hello, stranger.”

Bull inclined his head. He and Ellana dismounted, looking around.

“The clan is further along,” the old man said kindly. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

“Depends which _her_ you mean,” Ellana said.

“Leader of shemlen,” the man said, grinning.

“Not anymore,” Ellana said. “This is my friend Bull. Ah—The Iron Bull.”

Bull flashed her a grin.

The man inclined his head and pointed in the direction of the clan. She and Bull went, walking now, and it did her some good not to be riding. Her legs felt bowed by the saddle. When she saw the familiar structure of a camp, she called out another greeting, and this time the clan’s Keeper greeted her.

“ _Andaran atish’an_ ,” Bull mumbled under his breath, in time with the Keeper. She fought a smile and bowed politely.

“I’m Ellana of clan Lavellan,” she said. “This is my friend, The Iron Bull.”

“I am Felar,” the Keeper said. “We know who you are.”

It seemed a signal; children ran from the main camp to goggle up at her, and adults were hardly more contained. Many of them looked at her Quickshot, eyes round with curiosity.

“I’ve come to talk about Fen’Harel,” she said. “How much do you know?”

“Enough, Da’len.” Felar smiled. “He is walking the world, building an army. Clan Sarvel is no arm of the Dread Wolf.”

She nodded. “He means to bring back the old world. He will release the Evanuris—but the Evanuris are no gods.”

Felar’s smile stiffened. She could see him struggle against censure, and why wouldn’t he? She insulted the Creators. It was heresy to most, a subversion of something pure that had kept the Dalish alive, aware, proud.

“Da’len,” Felar said, sounding sad, and she changed tacks.

“At least, he doesn’t think so,” she said. It was her first time speaking to a clan besides Lavellan about the matter directly, though she’d toured the depressing Val Royeaux alienage for the past few days. More caution was needed here, where tradition was stronger. “We know the Creators are imperfect. They’ll be angry when they wake. When the Dread Wolf comes, I hope Sarvel won’t be swayed by his voice.”

This was a language her people understood. She saw nods, and relaxed slightly as Felar drew her and Bull closer to the centre of the camp.

“Tell us your story,” Felar said, “if you will.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ellana hadn’t seen Solas since the dream by the waterfall. It irked her, but it was her own doing, on Leliana’s advice.

 _Allow him to feel your absence,_ Leliana had said in that deceptively soft way that spelled danger for her foes. _You made an impression in your last dream, I’m sure. Give him a few weeks to stew on it._

Ellana had felt him nearby a week ago, in an ordinary dream, but he hadn’t approached and she hadn’t reached out. _Allow him to feel your absence_. She repeated it to herself like a mantra, holding it in her mind until the temptation to seek him out was under control. She had travelled to the other base, spoken to elves, met with nobles about the deplorable conditions of the Val Royeaux alienage and what could be done—and at night she was alone, ticking down days until the absence had lengthened into an amount of time Leliana deemed appropriate.

Three weeks on the dot, she tried to dream again, silently pleading to Cole as she fell asleep. _Let me wake in my dream, let me wake in my dream, let me wake in my dream…_ She didn’t know if it had anything to do with Cole, but she got her wish, waking in the Fade-scape she knew so well. She’d only just finished changing it into the practice yard at Skyhold when Solas snapped into being. He stood on the other side of the ring, and he didn’t wait for her to speak.

“How was your time in the alienage?” he asked in a perfectly neutral tone that didn’t quite convince her.

“Spying on me?” She moved to sit on the fence of the practice ring, facing him, giddy with her success. Leliana had said to make him wait, that he’d come to her if she beckoned after an absence, and he had. It made Ellana feel powerful, somehow, even though it hadn’t been her idea.

“You can hardly believe I have no agents in the largest… _holding pen_ of our people in Thedas. I hear your speeches were rousing, though I wonder if you believe in what you say.”

“And what did I say?”

“Would you like it word for word, with all the variations my people reported—or will a summary do?”

He sounded peeved, and it made her bite down on a smile. She’d been going around telling her people not to give into despair, that they should campaign for themselves, for a world their children would get to experience one day and not the world the Dread Wolf wanted, which none of them would ever get to see. She’d promised to fight on their behalf, holding up the success in Wycome as a kind of banner. With any luck, Solas wouldn’t be able to draw on as many people as he’d hoped to in Val Royeaux.

With even more luck, some of the elves she’d spoken to would tempt siblings and friends who’d joined Solas to come back to the fold.

“I suppose there’s no need for you to repeat my words,” she said. “I remember what I said as well. Any constructive criticism?”

“For your speeches? No. Far be it from me to improve on what was no doubt an admirable performance.”

His dry delivery rendered his praise an insult, but she didn’t take it to heart. He was manipulating their people as surely as she was, and his manipulation would lead to their doom if he succeeded. Hers would lead to better living conditions and a voice in government, even if her primary goal was to deprive him of forces. It struck her as strange but right that their battle of wills had shaken her opinion of the status quo from something she could do little to change to something she _must_ change. If they all lived, she’d have to thank him.

He fidgeted, unclasping his hands, touching the fence, folding his arms. She inclined her head, and eventually the tension snapped.

“Also, if you are going to gallivant through the city and ride about the woods, at least take more people than just The Iron Bull.”

“I’m touched.” Her traitor voice softened so her statement didn’t sound like the joke she’d meant it to be. She cleared her throat, trying to remember Leliana’s advice. Her melodic voice sounded in her mind. _He called you a port in the storm, yes? So be one. You are a moment away from reality, an oasis._

Thinking of herself as an oasis—of Leliana calling her an oasis like it wasn’t ridiculous—made Ellana want to groan in embarrassment, but she tried to take the advice to heart nonetheless. Before she could move their conversation away from reality, however, he spoke.

“I do not warn you in vain,” he said urgently. “You are a liability to my cause. It is not paranoia to imagine one of my people might decide to take you out of the equation, whatever my orders to the contrary.”

She wondered that he didn’t want that. However much he cared, however much he didn’t want her dead, it would be easier if she was gone. Strange, to think that he was so determined for her to live up until the end.

Unless…

“In your plan, do you survive lifting the Veil?” she asked suddenly. She was breathless, struck by this new idea, and the voice inside telling her to be an oasis was pushed aside.

He blinked. “What?”

“You have a plan for the Evanuris, so I suppose you do survive the Veil disappearing. But then—your plan for dealing with them—do you survive that?”

His jaw set. “This is not a topic I will discuss with you.”

“You’re planning to die. Not immediately when the Veil is lifted, maybe, but you die in the confrontation. Don’t you?”

He looked at her, and something raw and painful inside of her bloomed. Pity? Anger? Despair?

“You don’t plan to outlive me,” she said. “Not by much.”

It wasn’t something an oasis ought to say, but she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t be the calm, steady presence Leliana had told her to be, not right now. Emotion pulsed in her dream-body, hard and aching. He planned to steer the world—and then die. She could read in his expression that she was right.

The gall—to destroy her world then not live with the guilt of it forever.

“I will not die,” Solas said. “Not exactly. And that’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

She wondered if he referred to the dreamless sleep or some other transformation, but she didn’t ask more. She would think on it later; she’d ignored Leliana’s advice long enough, and now she forced herself to calm. Deep breaths in and out, a picture of snow-capped mountains in her mind.

 _Release your shoulders, Da’len_ , she heard her Keeper say. _Drop, and drop, and—there. Better._

Solas watched her regain her composure. His jaw was clenched, and she thought he would benefit from her Keeper’s voice himself—but he probably knew five-hundred ways to calm down; he’d just forgotten he needed it.

“Let’s talk about things that aren’t so grim, then,” she said.

He made a motion as if pushing her words aside. “You’ll be more careful?”

“You’re not in a position to make demands, but I’ll humour you. I’ll be careful.” Taking more than one person with her for back-up was a good idea. He was right about his agents posing a threat, and if she were truly wise, she’d simply assume everyone was out to assassinate her—including Solas.

“Thank you.”

“Now,” she said. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

She didn’t wait for him to answer as she transformed the dream into a vision of hills she’d known as a girl, up in the Marches. The dream flickered, the level of detail lacking, and she felt Solas strengthen it somehow. For a moment it was almost as if they touched, phantom heat pressing into her. The wave of longing that followed it—longing to be touched like that, body to body—made her knees weak. How long since someone had touched her, beyond a nudge or a pat on the shoulder? Was Bull the hugging sort? Would Sera complain if Ellana threw an arm over her shoulder? She needed to dispel this charge on her skin, to wipe it clean somehow, and Solas would be no help in this matter.

She looked at the stretch of soil between them now, the distance consistent with all the other times they’d met in dreams. He always left enough space to keep her at bay, even if she charged him. It seemed almost prudish of him, reminding her of human stories of princesses locked in towers for the sake of their virtue. Unbidden, the image of Solas with long golden hair, weaving in some isolated tower, arose in her mind. It made her fight a smile, even as she decided the lifestyle would probably suit him: no one to interrupt, and all the time in the world to explore the Fade.

“You are amused,” Solas said. “What amuses you?”

“You, protecting your virtue.” She gestured at the space between them, beginning to walk. She missed her other arm; she wanted to clasp her hands behind her as he did when he was striding out. As she walked she watched him peripherally, waiting to see what he made of her comment.

“Ah, yes. Though perhaps it is less my virtue I protect than my face.”

His face? What was he talking about?

He raised his brows at her confusion. “Do you mean to tell me you would refrain from a right hook if I let you near?”

A laugh burst from her chest, and she didn’t miss the resulting smile that flickered across his face. She looked at her hand as if considering.

“I didn’t attack you in the ruins,” she said. She could have, despite the pain—but she’d wanted answers.

The fact that he could have frozen her like all those Qunari might have played into it too.

“No. You did not.”

They came to the top of a rise, and she stopped to look out. She remembered this view, how it had promised there was a whole world waiting for her. The Waking Sea lay at the horizon, the distance deceptive; it was further away than it looked.

She kept her eyes on the view. “Would you let me near, then, if I asked?”

“It wouldn’t be wise.” He was clasping his hands behind him again; a glance told her he held on tightly. “You may point out that meeting here isn’t wise either, if you wish.”

“I’ll refrain,” she said, wondering. _I would not lay with you under false pretences_ , he’d said in the ruins. It had explained why his passion had always had a stopping point when they were together, even when she felt his desire for more, his reluctance to stop. She’d been almost grateful for it in the end: one small way not to feel had. But now she knew who and what he was. Did he keep his distance because he feared contact would weaken his resolve?

If that was the case, bridging the gap between them was of utmost importance; Leliana had suggested the same.

“We are in the Marches?” Solas asked, blissfully unaware of her scheming.

“Yes. We came here often in the summer. There was this type of hard-shelled insect we gathered for a purple dye humans would pay buckets for. All the children crawled around these hills for weeks during mating season, collecting as many shells as they could.” With a touch of old smugness, she added: “I usually brought back the most.”

“Naturally.”

She allowed herself a smile. He didn’t sound like he was joking, exactly. His opinion of her had always been strangely elevated, perhaps undeservedly so. She put it down to his lack of insight into the others, a failure to see how her advisers and companions guided her, making a well-intentioned but unexceptional person capable of leadership. He’d been part of that balancing act once.

“Anyway, I liked it here. We can go somewhere else, if you want.”

“I find myself wanting to see one of these insects,” Solas said, graciously rejecting the offer. “Will we find one, if we continue on?”

“Perhaps,” she said. The quiet atmosphere was perfect; Leliana would be proud. _An oasis_. She was finally being an oasis. “Let’s keep walking, then.”

 

* * *

 

Every night that week, they met in dreams. They didn’t talk of the conflict between them, not after the first meeting, and Solas no longer appeared to her in full armour; instead he wore clothes reminiscent of what he’d worn when they first knew each other. The designs were similar, but without the ragged asymmetry, the variable quality. Gone was the humble apostate. For her part, Ellana still appeared in the coat and leggings she ran around base in, unsure how to change Fade-clothes without running the risk of accidental nudity.

It was a strange kind of truce, but it was according to plan. By the third night they were playing chess, and she didn’t lose as badly as she might have; Cullen and Bull had been frequent partners over the years, and even Dorian had caught her now and then. It pleased her to see his surprise at her level of skill, and it pleased her even more that he sat across from her almost within reach. She convinced herself she was making progress—but at the end of every game, as soon as the chessboard was gone, the distance between them lengthened.

Should she snatch his hand during a game? It seemed like an attack, and was unlikely to engender the kind of tenderness Leliana had encouraged her to inspire. She played with the thought though—for days.

“You seem distracted,” he said, and she straightened. They were at the board in the Skyhold garden, the light slanting low. It was the seventh night of this—of walks, watching things in the Fade, chess. Somehow it seemed almost like a courtship, though if it _was_ courtship it was a depressing kind that was only meant to lead to more frustration. There were no secret touches, and every night they ended at the same distance they’d begun at.

“A ruse,” she said easily. “To lure you into a feeling of safety.”

Given their current situation, perhaps she shouldn’t joke about things like that.

“I will not fall for it,” he said, but he was smiling. “I know you plot my downfall at all times.”

They exchanged smiles then, and she leaned forward to take one of his pieces. His playstyle was starting to make sense to her, though she wasn’t sure how to avoid the myriad traps he set. Perhaps tactical games against an ancient trickster god always led to failure, but she hadn’t refused a game yet.

She kept the piece she took in her hand, stroking the surface. She had watched him move it a few moments ago, fingers touching what now lay so comfortably in her palm. He watched her rub the piece as if it were a worry-stone, and she wondered what he made of the gesture—whether he understood it was a tangible connection between them. _It was yours, and now it’s mine_.

It was only the memory of a chess piece, constructed in the Fade—but she had to force herself to set it down when it was her turn. She looked down at the board, not really seeing it. Seconds lengthened into minutes, and still Solas waited.

“Come, vhenan,” he said eventually. “Your life does not hang in the balance. Play.”

She glanced up at him, then down at the board. It was hard to care about chess. She wondered if he’d be content to do this, night after night, until one of them was successful in their missions. Impatience flared inside of her at the thought, and she sat back.

“I don’t have the head for it tonight. I’m sorry.”

Solas folded his hands. “There is a possibility, tonight, that you will checkmate me. You don’t see it?”

“So that’s what got you so excited.” She’d wondered why he’d been so intent the last few moves—and so content to wait as she dithered. He wanted to see her put up a fight, make use of her position. She leaned forward again, but only to set her king on its side. “There. Now we’ll never know what might have happened.”

Her satisfaction only lasted for a moment. The next, her fallen king was righting itself, moving back to where it had stood when she felled it.

“We will pick this up another time,” Solas promised. The board disappeared from the table, but she was confident he could summon it back into existence with all the pieces exactly where they had been. She wondered if she ought to read into the gesture—his rejection of her surrender, the interest he showed in being outmatched.

 _He wants to be wrong_.

Frustration flared in her dream-limbs, making her stand. Solas rose too, seemingly braced for her to jump at him, and she wanted to laugh, or else accuse. What could he possibly be so afraid of, that he’d act so skittish in her company? He acted as if a touch from her would kill him, yet he joined her every night without fail.

“I might not be able to meet with you for a while,” she said, wandering away from the table so he wouldn’t see her face. It was a lie. She was able to meet up, of course, but Leliana had told her to set up a rhythm—and then to break it, to make her absence noted once more. Now seemed like the right time, even though it made Ellana want to scream.

“Everyone must sleep, Ellana.”

She suppressed a shiver at his voice coming from behind her, saying her name. Her shoulders rose, and she continued on towards the main keep.

“Everyone has to sleep, but not everyone has to dream.” She pushed open the door, and the next, knowing he followed. The main hall was deserted, though memories of faces shimmered like heat in the air. She continued on to a room she hadn’t been brave enough to visit any of the times she’d come here in dreams, briefly touching the remembered, warm presence of Varric as she went.

The rotunda was as it had ever been, the mural unfinished. She didn’t have to imagine the smell of paint; it flared into being, assaulted her senses. Memory heaped upon memory, and the fact that she stood here with a stranger who wore Solas’s face didn’t make anything easier. She kept her eyes on the mural

“We can’t… _I_ can’t do this every night.” It was easier to speak without looking at him. “Seeing you. Talking. Never resolving anything. Never touching.”

“You want to stop.”

“No.” Finally she looked at him over her shoulder, and it was a shock to see him in those fine clothes as if he belonged in them; some part of her had expected the rotunda to transform him back into himself. “I want nights when I just sleep. Do you know what it feels like, waking from these dreams?”

An ache in her throat, hand balling into a fist, every muscle tensed to run—wanting to bang on walls and doors and windows until something gave.

Until Solas gave.

“I have an inkling,” Solas said, and perhaps he did.

“I want to see you,” she said. “But sometimes, I need to not see you. Especially when I’m… busy. During the day.”

“You expect me to believe you have quiet days?”

She smiled at his understanding. “I have less hard days, sometimes.”

Silence fell as he considered her words. She wondered why they needed to be considered at all. Would he trap her here in her sleep if he disagreed? That would be deliciously villainous, something to rub in his face for however long their war dragged on. She was sure it went against every principle he had, though, and knew not to hope for fresh hypocrisy. Perhaps he was deciding just now whether to simply vanish from her life, taking the decision of whether or not to meet out of her hands forever.

This time she was the one who waited as seconds ticked into minutes.

“Come, vhenan,” she joked, echoing him. “Your life does not hang in the balance.”

Reality folded—or rather, the Fade folded, and she was reminded violently that it wasn’t reality. They stood in the dreamscape, the rotunda gone. Emptiness stretched from her toes to his, threateningly near.

Solas blinked at the literal gulf that had opened up between them as if it surprised him. He cleared his throat as if embarrassed.

“Was that you or me?” she asked, taking a step back. The past week it had gotten less and less clear which of them was forming the dreams. He reinforced hers, and she thought she reinforced his too when she knew the environment. Skyhold was neutral ground: more hers than his, but he was the expert. It evened out.

“Me. I… would prefer you not to use endearments as a joke.”

What a depressing request to make, and unfair besides—but she didn’t protest. Perhaps it had been a joke; her love often felt like one. Her _life_ felt like one. She’d made Varric write a book called _All This Shit Is Weird_ , deviating heavily from his more traditional titles. Thankfully, the circulation on that one was limited.

“I can’t tell if this flair for the dramatic is affected or just comes naturally to you,” she said. “Are you making up for all the months you spent in homespun?”

“On the contrary. I miss the scratch of low-quality fabric. Very grounding.”

Why did he have to make her laugh? It was easier when he didn’t make her laugh. “Is that why you always set yourself on fire? Scratching itches?”

“Once or twice is not _always_. Did you _always_ intend to land in a tangled heap with our enemies?”

“Uncalled for,” she complained. Talk of old battles—battles fought on the same side—made her throat ache with nostalgia. She missed the ends of those battles, when he checked her for damage with a healer’s efficiency. Calm professionalism could fall away with a single glance. It would only ever be a glance, with others there to look, but there could be more to the gentle press of fingers and averted eyes than there was to an entire night in bed with a stranger. She would look at him and know he felt it too: the charge, the urge. Neither of them had ever had to speak for them to know.

“I miss—” he started, seemingly reading her thoughts, but he stopped himself. “No. I shouldn’t.”

He shouldn’t, and neither should she, but that never stopped them. She looked at the gulf between them, both of her arms—even the one that wasn’t there—aching in memory of his searching fingers. She wished he’d change things up and poke a real bruise again, instead of all her metaphorical ones.

He was turned away slightly, seemingly in thought. Last time at the waterfall, he had been warned of her approach. He had saved her with magic, or—since this was the Fade—the manifestation of his will. If she caught him by surprise, could she spur his body into action before his mind caught up?

It was a terrible idea. It was less confrontational than grabbing his hand during chess, but if her guess was wrong and he didn’t react at all she would plummet for an undetermined length of time through the bottomless Fade. She couldn’t reach him in a jump, whatever Cole said; her mastery of flight in the Fade was patchy at best. It was an emotionally risky, bad idea, and she wasn’t sure what Leliana would think of it.

She was still going to do it.

“By all means, tell me what you miss,” she said, playing for time—for distraction. She needed him not to notice the run-up.

“I fear we would be here all night, and none the wiser for it.”

That wasn’t enough; she needed to get him thinking. “About Skyhold then. One small thing. Not the thing you miss the most, just… something.”

“Perhaps you can tell me what you think I miss.”

That was no good, but she could work with it. She thought only for a moment. “Dorian, the floor above you. Muttering to himself as he threw books about.”

“I believe that is something _you_ miss, by the sound of your voice,” Solas said. “I can assure you I do not.”

“Fine. Then guess another of mine.”

He thought, tipping his head back, and it was her chance. She summoned her absent arm for a counterbalance, and she ran. Jumped. There was no wind to whistle by her, and the curious sensation of flying in nothingness terrified her. She was about to drop. She was going to fall into the abyss. He still hadn’t looked her way. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t—

He saw her at the last moment and reached for her, clumsy with shock. His hands grabbed at her coat, wrenched her into his arms, and she slung her real arm around his neck before he could drop her. He didn’t drop her, though, didn’t even attempt to. He gathered her up as if it was instinct, and perhaps it still was.

The world slotted into place. It was the Fade still, but he was real enough—his smell, his warmth, the way he held her. Once, he might have complained that mages weren’t suited to manual labour, even as he carried her; he had moved her back to her room thus on more than one occasion, late at night when the great hall was empty. She remembered the way his hands used to linger, even after he laid her down—like he knew he ought to leave but couldn’t quite make himself do it.

 _Stay_ , she’d said, often—but he’d drawn lines for himself, and she was caught in them.

Now he was caught in her lines—or in her defiance of his. She gazed at him as shock turned to understanding. She used her false Fade-hand to touch his cheekbone, and she imagined that she felt his skin against her fingertips. He closed his eyes at the sensation, or the lack of it.

“Hello,” she murmured in greeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure it's impossible to play the games and not know this BUT-
> 
> Andaran atish’an - formal greeting (enter this place in peace)  
> Da'len - child  
> Vhenan still means heart!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas lets something slip. (It's not Fade tongue. OR IS IT???) Sera wonders if doing it in the Fade is like doing it standing up. Bull is a little tied up—and Leliana sends a letter.

She was braced for falling. She wasn’t braced for him sitting on the ground, pulling her in so tightly her face turned into his collar. With the immediate threat of being thrown off gone, she moved her arm to encircle his waist, letting the Fade-hand disappear.

“Vhenan,” he murmured into her hair, voice thick. “You take too many risks.”

“Did I give an old man a heart attack?”

“Very nearly.”

If he meant to scold her, he was going about it the wrong way. While it was terrifying to be held—her dream body could well disintegrate at the mix of sheer terror and confusion she felt, so close to the man who might destroy her—it filled her with a victorious thrill as well. She’d jumped the gap. She’d gotten to him. These weren’t their real bodies, but they were close, and that determined aloofness couldn’t be maintained at this range.

It was better than taking a chess piece he hadn’t meant to sacrifice.

“I should let go.” This was to himself, presumably, but she buried herself deeper, ignoring fear. He couldn’t hurt her, not physically. He didn’t even want her to take up the psychological scar of a long fall in the Fade.

“Not on my account, I hope,” she said, striving for a light tone—but her voice shook.

He let out a long, shuddering breath; from this close, she could feel it leave his chest. Her hand clutched at the back of his shirt, her body trembling no matter how firmly she told it not to.

 _He’s held you before_ , she told herself, not wanting to accept her own fear. _This is no different._

Except it was. He was more powerful; even as a non-mage she could feel it—taste it—in the air about him. A metallic tang not quite like blood, but removed from the comforting scents she’d associated with her strange apostate. There was no hiding who or what he was anymore. She wasn’t sure even ragged clothing could disguise him now. Something inside of him had shifted, and he was… larger, or denser, or something. She wished Dorian or Vivienne had been there in the ruins, to tell her what had changed, but they hadn’t been able to follow her.

She relaxed in increments, aided by his stillness. He would hardly destroy the world now, with her clutched to him; that would happen later, likely far away from where she would be engaged trying to stop him. That he held that potential inside of himself would never sit easy with her, but it wasn’t an imminent danger.

Things closer to hand drew her attention, beyond that tang of power: his grip, his breathing, the earthy scent of rift magic that clung to him even here. She drew back slightly to look at him, though he kept his eyes downcast.

“Thank you for catching me.”

“You are not welcome. The boundaries I set—”

“Yes, I’m sure you have your reasons. But I got no choice about _you_ being in my ragtag band—or leaving it—and now it’s your turn to put up with me.”

Finally he looked at her, and the hand not slung around her back came up to caress her face. _Don’t flinch_ , she thought, and managed not to—though she couldn’t hold his gaze when she felt the cool press of his hand on her cheek _._

“I know you are trying to change my mind,” he said. “I applaud the effort, but you must see it will do no good.”

“Won’t it?” She set her hand against his chest. It was strange to think he still had physical form, that he could still be touched, even if this wasn’t his real body. “Even if it doesn’t, do you think I can resent the effort?”

“If it doesn’t? Yes. Absolutely.”

“Like I’ll have time to,” she said. She remembered his rule—no gallows humour—but he was the one planning to kill her. He ought to remember it sometimes.

He moved, and now she sat in the bracket of his legs, both his hands rising to cup her face. “You might not die.”

Something still woke inside of her. “What?”

“You will not be yourself. It hardly matters yet… some part of you would remain. Changed, but you. Perhaps.”

She couldn’t bear the hope in his voice, like this was what kept him going. “I’ll _live_?” She was horrified.

“A part of you might linger, fused with—” Perhaps he finally looked, and saw that her expression was one of horror and not joy. His gaze dropped. “I apologise.”

“You’d change me,” she breathed.

“You have always been… adaptable. And it is only a possibility. One I hope for, but that doesn’t make it more likely.”

She thought of Dorian and the ritual his father had planned for him. It had sickened her to hear of it then—and hearing of this possibility, a possible future where she might die and live at the same time, sickened her now.

And yet, some part of her wondered if it might be a consolation prize worth having. Not true death—something in between.

And her friends? Her people?

“I won’t live in your world,” she whispered with the strength of a vow. “I refuse. Not when others—not when my friends will not.” Her eyes rose, and he looked back at her now. “And it’s not like _you’ll_ be there.”

“I have not confirmed that.”

She tore her eyes away. “So a shadow of me will live happily ever after with a shadow of you? That’s your hope?”

His hands dropped away. “No. Hope…” He took a breath. “I must content myself with the past.”

“The past? Before I knew you. That brings you contentment? A fool loving a lie?”

“You knew me. The parts of me that—” He stopped, seemingly frustrated.

“The parts you wanted me to see.”

His smile was bitter. “There were a lot of foolish parts I could not help sharing, whatever my wishes.”

She wondered what parts of him he considered foolish—whether it was the things she would consider the same. Did he regret his opinions of the Dalish, his uncompromising view of the Qun, his disdain for compromise in general? Or did he regret his humour, the moments of levity that had nothing to do with a quest? Did he regret all the times he’d kissed her back, so obviously against his better judgment?

No. He was still here; if he regretted his time with her, this was the wrong way to show it.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said, “at Crestwood. I wanted to tell you everything.”

“What stopped you?”

“I was weak.” His hands dropped away to his knees. “You looked up at me and I couldn’t bear to be what I was. Before the mess with the Qunari, I convinced myself you might never have to know.”

“I’d just live and die in ignorance,” she said, horrified at the thought. He flinched at the word _die_ , just as he always did. From this distance she could punch him for it, but she resisted.

“Yes. You deserved better. I realised eventually, though the Anchor—and the Qunari—precipitated matters.”

She wondered at the timing. If the Anchor had gotten as bad as it had earlier, would Solas have snuck into Skyhold to isolate its power? Would he leave an unsigned note telling people to lop her forearm off? She shivered at the thought of him sneaking in—at the thought of waking to him above her in the dark.

“Ir abelas,” Solas said, though Ellana didn’t know for what in particular. She shook her head.

“You know what haunts me the most?” she asked.

He waited.

“After Corypheus. I saw you holding those shards, and I thought—I felt terrible. I thought maybe we could have tried harder to keep the orb intact, devised some way to use it for the Breach without breaking it. I was so angry with you for how you’d set me aside without any explanation, but in my head I was already making a list of people who might be able to repair the damned thing because it meant so much to you, thinking of places where we might research such artefacts. I felt helpless and stupid for not knowing how to make it work for you, for not even being a mage who could—I don’t know, poke it with magic or something.”

“Of course,” Solas interrupted. Against all odds, he was smiling. “If only someone had _poked it with magic_ , it might have been saved.”

“Don’t joke,” she said, though amusement ate at the hollow feeling in her stomach. She’d known that even if she was a mage she couldn’t help—but she might have felt less out of her depth. “That wasn’t the point, anyway. I remember feeling all that, thinking all that. And then I found out two years later what you would have used the orb for. Sometimes in my nightmares, the orb is whole after the fight, just as I wished. You pick it up, disappear, and the world ends minutes later. I wake up screaming.”

She looked at her hand, lying limply on his chest. She twisted it in his shirt now, watching fabric bunch. She remembered Varric’s stories about Fenris, how his skin was marked with lyrium that allowed him to reach into a man’s chest and tear out his heart. It would be a dramatic gesture if nothing else.

“I don’t know if this will comfort you,” Solas said, “but part of me is relieved the orb was broken. A small, cowardly part.”

It was some comfort, she guessed.

“I lost my talent for happiness a long time ago,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I hope I can’t steal it from you.”

She met his gaze. “No,” she said. “You can’t.” Perhaps happiness was beyond her, but humour wasn’t, and neither was friendship. Not even hope was beyond her on good days. She set her finger below his chin so he couldn’t duck his head away.

“I’m going to save you,” she promised.

“No one will thank you for that, even if you manage it.”

“What is it with you and Dorian? Always telling me I won’t be thanked for things. What about me screams I want to be thanked? I want _results_.”

He laughed softly; she couldn’t quite smile back. Having mentioned results, she remembered she ought to be doing more sweet talking and kissing than arguing and declaring herself, or whatever it was she was doing now. But lingering attraction or no, the thought of kissing him scared her. His mouth had burned hers last time, or she had imagined that it did. She’d felt the brand of it as surely as the Anchor, too much and too little all at once. It was petty, but she wished they’d slept together before his betrayal so her nervousness about seducing him wouldn’t lump in with the nervousness of a first time with a new lover. All they’d done before—all they’d done—

She couldn’t think of it now. It made her body flush hot to remember that night, when she’d come to him after playing Wicked Grace with the others. She’d been tipsy from wine and good company and he’d woken with less of his usual reserve. Did he remember? His hands. Her—

She closed her eyes tightly, wishing she had a god left to swear by. _This is not the time_.

Solas was watching her when she regained some version of calm. “Your face is flushed.”

“With the zeal of conviction,” she told him. Her heart beat fast in her chest as she allowed that to be true. She _did_ have the zeal of conviction. She could do this. There was nothing scary or unfamiliar in working towards her goals. With her stomach flipping over—because she’d pushed all her nerves down into it—she reached to caress his face, thumb light against his cheek, and leaned in.

She had to hold his shoulder and stretch to press her mouth to his, and for a moment she thought she wouldn’t reach, but he tipped his head the last inch or so to bring their mouths together. Her Fade-body wasn’t real, but she swore a sigh of relief gusted through it as the last distance between them closed. It wasn’t nerves making her shake now; she gripped the fabric over his shoulder hard and clung tight, her heart hammering.

She’d meant it to be a single, chaste instant of her lips brushing against his before she woke herself up, but she found her mouth opening, her tongue moving to taste him. How could the Fade capture him so perfectly? Her hand moved to the back of his neck, gripping it as she deepened the kiss, and then he was crushing her to him with both arms. She’d meant to disappear. She’d meant to be an elusive wisp, tempting and then gone, but instead she gasped for air and pressed back as hard as he could wish, the muscles in her legs tight with the need to wrap around him.

 _Wake up_ , she thought. Her breasts against his chest, his arms like bars about her, the rasp of their combined breathing. _Wake up._ She didn’t want to, she couldn’t wake up, not now, but if she didn’t want it to stop then he probably didn’t either, so she had to try, she had to do it now—

She woke with a gasp in the dark, Solas and the Fade abruptly gone. It left an ache in her chest, the pulsing of desire in her body furious and unfulfilled. The suite was quiet, the breaths of not-Ellana in the dressing room next door soft and even. Ellana folded over her knees, head bowed. If she screamed, would she wake the household? She clenched her teeth until the impulse passed, breathing fast through her nose. _Calm, calm, calm._

In time she no longer sounded like a woman on the edge of a panic attack, and that was when she stood. She pulled a robe on over her nightgown and belted it loosely one-handed, slipping Dorian’s crystal into the pocket before stepping out of the room and padding down the stairs. Only the guards outside the manor would be awake at this hour, and Ellana longed obscurely for Leliana, who would want to know about tonight and not mind being woken up.

Solas had slipped up when he told Ellana she might not die. It changed things, knowing that; she finally had a better idea of what he was promising his people. Not certain death after all—but a chance at a life transformed, linked to something greater. Ellana had felt alone and confused often enough to understand the draw of a force that promised to make her feel fulfilled, whole. Before she had thought Solas’s people were martyrs who hated the world; now she knew they might also be believers, convinced of their place in an after-world. It made her job harder, but it was always better to know than not know.

In the kitchen, she rooted around the bread box until she found a sugary Orlesian bun. She took it to the next room and sat at the dining table with it, neglecting to grab a plate. Since Sera had returned to the mansion a few days ago, it was unlikely Ellana would be blamed for crumbs.

Ellana took a bite, trying to ignore the phantom aftertaste of a kiss that hadn’t happened. Could she call Dorian? She tried, speaking softly into the crystal, but there was no response.

 _Piss_ , she thought—and a moment later, as if the cuss had summoned them, she heard someone running down the stairs. There was a thump, and then Sera swung into the dining room. Sera sat herself without prompting, and Ellana tore her off half the bun. It made a mess she resolved to clean up later.

“Thought it’d be you!” Sera said. “Poor Savri, she’s scared to go anywhere while you’re here. Takes her job real serious.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ellana said. Savri was an excellent doppleganger, a fine agent, and a huge asset to their mission. She hoped it was fooling someone, though having a lookalike was useful in and of itself.

“D’you think he knows you don’t live here?” Sera asked. She asked each time; Ellana suspected she wanted Solas to show up here so she could get a few shots at him.

“This _is_ our base. It’s just the base that regularly gets its mail stolen. Whether he knows it’s not our only base… Leliana hasn’t seen any signs of tampering in any of our Nowhere correspondence.”

“You don’t have to go back so soon,” Sera said. “Bet it’s boring.”

“There’s a lot of washing,” Ellana agreed mildly.

“Love that.” Sera grinned. “Love the Inquisitor washing her own socks. That’ll go in a song one day, you’ll see.”

“Former Inquisitor. And I’m not leaving before I see Cassandra, of course.” Cassandra had arrived back two days ago, but her time was always tied up with Chantry business for several days after her visits to the mountains.

Sera propped her feet up. “How’s the bondage thing coming along then?”

Ellana groaned. “Is that what Dagna calls it?”

“It’s what Bull calls it.”

“Of course.” Ellana smiled, but it was a thin one. The binding ritual described in some of Corypheus’s effects had seemed like it might be useful—a few months ago, before the research stalled. “No progress from Dorian or Vivienne, since we’re not willing to risk lives. I doubt we could get Solas to spring a trap like that even if we had it, so it’s no great loss.”

He always saw the traps she laid for him on a chess board.

Sera propped her head on her hand. “Would you like that? Trapping him?”

It was uncomfortably close to what she was trying to do already—a task she hadn’t told Sera about yet. It seemed like a good time to bring it up, however much Sera would hate it. “I’m trying to,” she said. “With Leliana’s go-ahead. We’ve been meeting in the Fade.”

Sera’s sound of disgust reverberated through the empty room, and Ellana didn’t know if it was for Solas or the Fade or a combination of the two. Probably the last; she smiled wryly.

“I knew you wouldn’t be a fan.”

“He should leave you alone! What’s he on about, being the frigging _Dread Wolf_ but meeting up with you in his free time? He wants to kill us!”

“I know.”

“You know, but it’s a chance, so you’ll try.” Sera’s jaw clenched. “Is it any use, keeping stuff from him? Can’t he just read your mind? Maybe Savri’s holed up here for nothing.”

Ellana repeated what Leliana had said about them being behind in terms of information, the words cemented in her mind, and watched Sera’s frustration rise.

“Urgh! That… Urgh! I can’t even insult him without insulting you, half the time! Stop sleeping with him! I want to call him a… a…”

“A nug-plugger?” Ellana offered. She’d heard it from a foul-mouthed dwarven merchant in Kirkwall the last time she visited Varric, and something about the word just wouldn’t leave her imagination. She watched Sera’s annoyance melt into delight.

“Oh, that’s… that’s just wrong!” Sera was grinning. “Ugh. A nug. You’d have to be… well. You’d have to have small bits. D’you think that’s the insult?”

“I’m sure it’s that, and not the fact that someone willing to do _that_ to a nug is obviously deficient in morals and taste and—well, most things we value. No sense of smell, either.”

Sera continued groaning in delight, moving around in her chair. She had nothing to add, it seemed. A comfortable silence fell as they ate the rest of the sugared bun, both of them—presumably—considering the technicalities of nug-plugging.

“All right,” Ellana said. “I’m ready to think about something different now. Please. Anything.”

She’d expected Sera to laugh, but Sera looked at her seriously, head tilted. This was the new Sera, no longer a constant whirlwind of snorts and pranks and deflections.

“Would you take him back?” she asked after a long moment. “If he was no danger?”

“That sounds like…” Ellana shook her head, not sure what it sounded like. _Take him back_. She’d never really had him in the first place.

“Live in the woods, have a bunch of elfy children, weave baskets?”

Ellana levelled her with a look.

“What part’s not doing it for you?” Sera asked, amusement creeping in, but there was something cautious beneath her smile. Did she think Ellana could betray them?

“It’s strange to think about,” Ellana said. “Not the basket-weaving, just… the future. Before the Exalted Council, I thought I could just go on being the Inquisitor for as long as Thedas could benefit from it. I thought we could do good. I didn’t have plans beyond that, really.”

“And now you’ll just go on being the secret Quizzy forever? Be awkward if you got back together like that, him being our big enemy and all.”

“I appreciate you pretending not to hate everything about this, Sera.”

Sera huffed. “Not about me, is it? I hate his guts and everything he stands for. But I’m _your_ friend.”

“You can stop worrying,” Ellana said. She heard a door upstairs, footsteps. “I don’t think you’ll have to get used to the idea of us together any time soon.”

“You’re meeting in the _Fade_. What, that like doing it standing up? Can’t get pregnant, doesn’t count?”

“You can get pregnant standing up,” Ellana said, though she supposed it wasn’t a concern for Sera.

The footsteps she’d half thought she was imagining ended at the door, and it swung open again—this time to admit Bull.

“Uh?” Ellana said. Bull wasn’t supposed to be staying in the mansion, and she hadn’t heard him come in earlier.

For the moment there was no explanation forthcoming; Bull was looking at Sera, and Sera was grinning back.

“That was great, Sera,” he said. “Really took me a while! And what was that material you used? Itchy!”

“Thought you’d like it, but it’s my little secret,” Sera said. She turned to Ellana, grin sharp. “There’s _my_ type of bondage. Been trying out all my knots on Bull, seeing if he can get out quietly. Ben-Hissrad _that_! He likes it too much, but fair’s fair. I’ll always know what knots are best.”

“Ben-Hassrath, Sera, or Hissrad on its own. Different things.” Bull plopped down. “So, who’s doing it standing up?”

“No one,” Ellana said.

“We were saying doing it in the Fade is like doing it standing up,” Sera told Bull, devoid of context. “Doesn’t count.”

Bull shivered. “How could _anyone_ … in the _Fade_ …”

“Oh, hush it,” Sera said. “Stop thinking of demons up your bum. Unless you like it. Plenty of people do, I suppose.”

“Sera. _Demons_.”

“Demons have funny bits!”

“Would _you_ …?”

“No way! Eugh! _Me?_ How can you even ask that? Like I want funny bits!”

Ellana pressed down a smile. For a moment, she wished desperately she could hear Solas heave a sigh at the pair of them, perhaps launch into one of his lectures on demons and spirits and desire and _doing it_ in the Fade—and then she realised what she was wishing for, and the smile disappeared quite naturally. She could spend time with her friends, or she could spend time with Solas.

 _And never the twain shall meet_. Because Solas was her enemy.

“So, Boss,” Bull said. “Sex in the Fade? Know who’d be up for that. Seeing him, yeah? Sounds risky.”

“I’m not having sex standing up or in the Fade,” Ellana said. “In fact, I’m not having sex.”

“But she’s seeing him,” Sera told Bull. Both of them looked at her. She was ready for judgment, but their expressions seemed more sad than judgmental.

“How’s Cullen’s operation?” Bull asked with that casual straightforwardness that hit like the mauls he wielded. Cullen’s operation consisted entirely of scouring Templar history for anti-mage techniques that might stop Solas; Cassandra was on the same mission with the Seekers when she could be. What they found would likely be a last resort—something to kill Solas rather than save him.

“We haven’t heard in a while,” Ellana said, knowing it didn’t answer the real question. She looked Bull straight in the eye. “I’ll kill him, Bull. If I have to.”

“Personally?” Bull asked.

“Only if I have to.” Then again, could she stand having someone else kill Solas in her place? One of her friends, perhaps? They were some of the best fighters in the world.

Terrible thought, that they might be the best qualified to kill Solas.

“Glad to hear it,” Bull said softly.

“What part? That I will, or that I’d rather not?”

“Both.”

She nodded, and it was the end of the conversation. Bull and Sera started talking about rope-tying, and Ellana tried to swallow familiar fears. Meeting Solas every night had made her forget the likely outcome, or at least pretend it wasn’t likely. The options weren’t redeem or die; they were redeem or kill or die.

She shook the thought from her head. Something would change his mind. It had to. They’d gain some tactical advantage, and he’d be more amenable to her suggestions, and it would all end peacefully. And then…

 _Basket-weaving_ , she heard Sera say. It might all be moot then, because she and Solas would both die of boredom. She wasn’t sure there was a future for them even if they both survived their war, but she wanted to believe there could be. Somehow. She wanted to believe they could forgive each other if she won.

She knew she could not forgive him if she lost.

 

* * *

 

 

Ellana was as good as her word. Though her heart called her back to the Fade, she avoided wakefulness in dreams. Whenever she found herself conscious, she willed herself back to senseless sleep. She could feel him close by, but she shut the awareness out. They were far away from each other, him in Tevinter and her in Val Royeaux, and they’d stay that way until she’d had a chance to speak to Leliana—she thought.

A letter from Leliana contradicted her.

 _Hunting party spotted near Halamshiral_ , Leliana wrote. _Looking into it._

Ellana’s hands sweated on the tiny missive, taken from a raven. _Hunting party_ meant Solas and agents. Halamshiral meant he was near. He travelled by Eluvian, so of course he always had the potential to be near, but he was never _seen_ until now. He was meant to be in Tevinter, focused exclusively on recovering artefacts.

She’d pack for her return to their real base immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas = sorry
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments! Cx I've been loving them. I hope this chapter is okay!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has disappeared; Solas tries not to go after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a self-indulgent sad-sack-Solas PoV chapter. You've been warned! I'm rubbing my hands in anticipation of the next but I had to get this out first.

Expecting her to disappear at any moment did nothing to prepare him for the moment she did disappear. One second she was crushed against him, her smell and her mouth and her weight the same as they’d ever been, and the next she was gone. Willed awake? Or woken by outside forces? It was impossible to tell.

For a moment impatience tore through him, the strength of it at odds with age and experience. _This feeling will pass_ , a voice reminded. It would pass, and he only had to sit here, still as he could, and not do anything stupid like rouse himself and pursue her like an avenging spirit through the Val Royeaux eluvian. The fact that he had the power and inclination to track her down made for dangerous temptation. Perhaps if he was a few millennia younger he could be forgiven for acting on it; as it was any action on his part would be the height of idiocy.

He was not young, even if he discounted the years spent sleeping, but sometimes he forgot. He’d forgotten the moment he saw her flying across that manufactured distance; he couldn’t let her fall, and she’d known. She’d expected him to catch her, and once he caught her he wasn’t able to let her go. She’d expected that too, probably, or had considered it a calculated risk.

She knew he was weak—but it wasn’t a weakness he was willing to let go of. Not yet.

In time, his breathing steadied. Though his need dimmed, forced down his throat until his hands no longer shook with it, the memory of her lingered. He was so powerful now, could walk the Fade as lord instead of petitioner, but this remained beyond him. He couldn’t leave well enough alone, and he suffered for it.

_She would think you deserve it_. The voice in his head, sardonic and familiar as breathing, was his own. He did deserve it, for this world’s sake, but that didn’t mean he would stop. Elves deserved to be one with themselves; he had taken that from them, and he would restore it.

He would. He would. He would—yet every day he found himself almost wishing he wouldn’t. He wanted to turn back time to the heyday of the Inquisition, when his foolishness had threatened the world and she’d saved it instead—back when she could look at him without part of her flinching away.

He wondered if she thought she hid that from him, the small, instinctual twist of fear that flashed when their eyes met.

“Hello,” said a presence nearby—Cole. Of course.

Solas didn’t move. He hadn’t sensed Cole’s approach, but that was hardly unusual. Spirits often lingered nearby, and Solas tuned them out when he had no business with them. Most didn’t approach without prompting; they were held at bay by his power even as it enthralled them.

He was grateful for Cole.

“Hello,” he said, looking up. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” Cole said. He dropped to sit on his haunches. Though Solas had no need of the kindness Cole did the others in maintaining the form they knew, it was interesting to speak to a spirit like this. The experience of reading expressions instead of the shifting energies of spirits reminded Solas of his time in the Inquisition, and perhaps that was why Cole chose to remain a young man.

He was, again, grateful for Cole.

“You mourn the slow arrow,” Cole said.

_Felassan_. Solas hadn’t been thinking of him, or not any more than usual. “Do I?”

“You mourn what he means. A path you destroyed, and now you can’t walk it.”

Felassan hadn’t wanted to procure the eluvians for him, in the end. His opinions had come to be the same as Ellana’s were now, arguing the elves alive today deserved a chance. They were real, not tranquil, not significantly lesser. It seemed unusually cruel for Cole to mention him.

“You’re on her side,” Solas found himself accusing. The words came out unprompted, childlike. He wished he could take them back the instant he said them—but words didn’t work like that.

“Do I have a side?” Cole asked, and it didn’t sound rhetorical. His eyes were clear, questioning.

“I apologise. I think… I cannot be the one to decide whether you do. Ask her.”

Ellana couldn’t be the one to decide either, but he was curious what her answer would be. Would she try to sway Cole? Could Cole be swayed?

“Have you helped her explore the Fade of late?” Solas asked. He had drawn Ellana into dreaming with his own power for days on end, but before that she had found her way alone—or not, depending on Cole’s answer.

“A little. Not always. Her body remembers the magic they cut off. It’s still there, pulsing.”

“The Anchor is gone.” Suddenly it was hard to breathe. He’d isolated it. Her hand and forearm had been removed, and the danger had passed with them. Hadn’t it?

“Her body remembers.” Cole watched him. “I don’t think she’ll die. Will she?”

“No,” Solas said. Somehow, he would make sure she wouldn’t, even if it only extended her life by a little. Even if the completion of his own mission killed her not much later.

His chest ached. There was time still. The preparations were incomplete, and the Veil would remain until his work was finished. She would be herself for weeks, months. Maybe even years.

_You cannot delay forever_.

He wasn’t delaying. He was making sure. He had made too many mistakes already, acting in haste. He was repenting at leisure.

He drew his mind back from the precipice of the future, back to the present where a spirit in the form of a young man kept him company and she was still alive somewhere in the world.

“You cannot help me, Cole,” he said. “But I appreciate the attempt.”

“You want me to go away,” Cole said.

“No.”

“You want to be sad, and you can’t be, not in front of me.”

Perversely, this made Solas smile. “We both know how well that has worked in the past. You are not an easy person to hide things from.”

“Do you want me to bring you a lock of her hair? In Varric’s book—”

Solas’s laugh interrupted what would no doubt have been a delightful statement. He could already imagine Ellana’s response to him having a lock of her hair; he didn’t have to use his imagination to hear her voice from earlier: _I can’t tell if this flair for the dramatic is affected or just comes naturally to you_. Perhaps he ought to let Cole bring him keepsakes of hers. It would put any lingering feeling she had for him to bed once she found out, and she could move on to someone else—someone not diametrically opposed to her goals.

He wished he could do it for her. It would be kinder to make himself so unappealing she lost all interest, but he couldn’t welcome her indifference. They had never seen exactly eye to eye, but imagining apathy from her was punishment indeed. He could bear confused hatred better than cool dismissal.

“She wonders how a god could possibly love her,” Cole said, reading his thoughts and responding. “You wonder how she can still love you.”

“I am not a god, Cole.”

“She knows. But you are powerful and ancient, and she wonders anyway. Would you like me to explain it to her?”

“What would you tell her?”

Cole was silent for a long time. Eventually, having mulled it over, he looked up. “It’s… hard to explain.”

Solas smiled. “Yes.”

“You think I can’t explain. That’s why you won’t tell me not to.”

That was true, though Solas hoped Cole wouldn’t go to Ellana with whatever he did manage to make out. There were things that could be known and felt but not communicated. Even before the Veil it hadn’t always been possible to bridge the distance of experience between two people; as it was, Solas was embarrassed to imagine what glimpsed thoughts might flow from Cole’s lips if he attempted to summarise.

“I won’t,” Cole said. “She doesn’t want me telling you things either.”

The words pulled at the tangle in his belly for all that they were only confirmation of something he already knew. Did she think he was unaware of what she attempted? She manipulated him as he had manipulated his superiors in his youth, gleaning information as she worked towards the deeper goal of changing his priorities. He knew the observation that went into that kind of swindle, the stockpiling of weaknesses to use later. She watched him now with the same eyes he’d once watched other, more powerful beings with, and perhaps that was poetic justice. For once the Dread Wolf was the one being tricked into giving away more than he wished, instead of the trickster fooling others.

He still wanted her regardless. He wanted her laughter, her attention, her clear-eyed gaze on his. His body ached with the things he wanted from her even though he had no right to ask for them. She’d forced the issue tonight because she knew his isolation made him weak to physical touch, but she’d miscalculated; his forced distance wasn’t because touch would weaken his resolve. If it was enough to want her and see her worth, he might have given up on his duty before they’d ever defeated Corypheus. He kept his distance because nothing she did would make a difference, and the harder she tried the worse it would hurt her that she couldn’t succeed. Her resentment now would mean little in the face of what she might feel on the cusp of defeat, and so he tried to spare her the pain.

Her life and his anguish couldn’t matter when weighed against the death cries of a world that had been twisted beyond repair; they couldn’t be allowed to. It was his mistake to mend.

No matter how real they all were.

Next to him, Cole was growing more and more agitated. He would help if he could, but nothing could help, and it upset him. For Solas living in denial and forging on was the only kind of reprieve from pain there was, but Cole’s nature wouldn’t allow him to accept it. They’d come to this stalemate before, the pair of them: the spirit of compassion and the man who carved out his own miserable destiny, quite beyond help. It was becoming repetitive.

“I should go,” Solas said. “It’s nothing to worry about, Cole. Some pain is… necessary.”

_Unavoidable_ , he thought, but he wished he could make the world softer, let it mean something for Cole, young as he was. What would Cole become, after the Veil was gone? His talent for physical manifestation would become obsolete, but his will and personality would still be strong; perhaps they would affect him in other ways. It would be a pleasure to find out, though Solas wasn’t sure he’d be there for it.

He hoped Cole would enjoy it.

“Goodbye,” Cole mumbled, still upset, and Solas pulled himself promptly to a different part of the Fade, hoping to spare Cole pain. Once, Solas had had to walk the world to get to new places; now it folded under him, no match for his power. He could go anywhere.

He ended up near her, or near where the Fade remembered her. It was no surprise he ended up trailing her so often, with how his thoughts turned, but there was no dreaming Ellana where the Fade echoed the spark of her presence, and he moved on. Eventually he roused himself, and a thought lit his workroom—perforce his bedchamber—with golden light. The Fade still felt very near, but the tables of maps and equipment were ordinary enough.

Another day stretched out ahead of him, and this morning the burning impatience of the past week was tinged with regret.

She had told him to stay away, and he suspected her later actions didn’t invalidate the command—much as he wanted them to.

 

* * *

 

 

His suspicion was proved correct. On subsequent nights, Ellana’s consciousness shrank from him. She dreamt as any nonmage might, and he could watch, or wake her in the dream—but it would be unwelcome interference. She didn’t have to wake to tell him that.

_You came to me_ , he wanted to argue, which was childish and only partly true. His discontent was spurred by the phantom crush of her body against his, the memory of her hand twisted in his shirt. Her fear had melted briefly, lost alongside his reserve. It had awoken something that lived under his skin, hungry and desperate. He felt like the wolf people named him in truth, and he couldn’t act on it.

He poured himself into his research instead, waiting for news from outposts. Contrary to Ellana’s beliefs of a nefarious organisation with spies in every corner—though he did have spies in many corners—a large portion of his agents were dedicated to specific places, performing a battery of tests Solas had designed years ago. Their results were getting more consistent, something Solas tried to regard with triumph. He loved the research for its own sake, not its end.

Still, when news from the site near Halamshiral finally brought results worth looking at in person, he felt a thrill. Of course it had been Halamshiral, a hub of their people for so many years. The fact that it was physically much closer to Ellana’s location sent a different thrill, but he ignored it. It wasn’t as if he’d seek her out. A physical meeting of their forces could only end in unpleasantness for both parties. He shook off fantasies where she hunted him down nonetheless, forcing the issue—letting him see her in the flesh—and prepared for time spent away.

The Veil tingled faintly against his skin.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana responds to news that Solas was sighted near Halamshiral.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have commented/kudo'd/bookmarked! Cx I really appreciate it. Writing this is a lot of fun, but it's nice to feel like I'm not the only one enjoying it!

“You’re meant to stay here and help our cover,” Ellana argued the night of the message, unsure if she wanted Sera to relent. It would be comforting to have a friend closeby.

“You can stuff your cover,” Sera said. “I’m going with you. He’s up and about, yeah? You need someone to pull you down to the earth. You’re the worst person to be making decisions where he’s concerned.”

“That’s why Leliana is involved. She’ll stop me from being an idiot, Sera. I promise.”

“Many hands make light work.” Sera set her jaw. “Look, I’m _going_. The sooner you accept it, the better.”

Ellana knew when she was outmatched, and ceased to argue.

 

* * *

 

 

It was hard to calm herself on the ship back to base, feeling time slipping away from her. For all she knew, Solas would have moved on by the time she got back to Leliana, much less by the time she could get out to where he was. The eluvians were unfair. They extended his reach beyond anything she might dream of, and they could whisk him away at any time. It was almost impossible to track his movements, though they knew through inference that his base was in Tevinter.

A sighting this far south _meant_ something. Perhaps it meant “trap”, but Ellana couldn’t put it from her mind. The ship rocked, and her thoughts rocked with it. She felt half mad with it when they docked, and on all the journey back to base. She knew she managed to hide it because there was no pity or scorn in Sera’s bearing, but it was a near thing.

“What if it _is_ him?” Sera asked as they climbed the path to the fishing village. “It’s not like you can go out and meet him, is it? Be daft.”

“I have a better chance of surviving an encounter than any of our forces,” Ellana said. Giddiness beat below her solar plexus, forming a second, faster heartbeat. _Could_ she see him? What would Leliana say?

“He’d just let you go?”

 _No_ , she thought, and hated herself instantly for the relish with which she thought it. It was wrong. She was meant to be changing his mind, not falling harder. This was no fond reunion. He could well be gone before she got there, and if he wasn’t… if he wasn’t… well, she had difficulty imagining that too. Could there be any advantage in going to where he’d been seen, sniffing him out?

Could she ask him in dreams tonight to stay put? Or ought she to hope he hurried on, so her people could investigate whatever he left in his wake?

A storm was brewing when their party reached the village. Ellana tried not to see it as an omen, but the way the sky darkened right as she knocked on the door at headquarters was hard to ignore.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana said, swinging the door open. She saw Sera and hid surprise—presumably. Ellana couldn’t ever see her hide things, but assumed she did. “Sera. It’s good to see you again. You brought the weather with you, hm?”

“I’m trying not to read into it,” Ellana confessed.

“Maybe you should.” Sera moved past them. “So where is he? Seen him again? Or did he bugger off somewhere? Tell me he buggered off somewhere. _Arse._ ”

Ellana followed her in. Harding was standing at the war table, and she flashed Ellana a smile of welcome as Leliana closed the door.

“Good to see you again,” Harding said. “Didn’t want to be facing your trickster god without back-up. Hope you don’t mind. My team’s still out there, but—at a distance. A safe one, I hope.”

“Is _he_ still out there?” Ellana asked. She was proud at how calm she sounded.

“Can’t say. Wish we could, but can’t. Last report said _colours in the sky,_ though.”

Ellana tried not to think of the Breach. “That’s… promising.”

“Terrifying is what it is,” Sera said. “Urgh. Thought we were done with that.”

When Ellana separated the information from her own restlessness, she couldn’t help but agree. How much progress did this mean for Solas? She shook her head of grim appraisal. “Let’s all cross our fingers and hope it’s not the end times.”

“If the Herald wants to lead her loyal subjects in prayer, it can be arranged,” Leliana said. She didn’t give the impression of joking, and Ellana’s mouth pulled down in thought as she considered. Perhaps it was time to pretend at faith again; the people here still helping deserved what hope she could provide them. Many of them still believed her Andraste’s chosen.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “No word from Cullen?”

“That would be convenient, but no.” Leliana took up her usual spot at the map, peering down at it. “I take it you are prepared to go to Halamshiral? Or rather—just outside of it, from reports.”

“No,” Sera said. “We need to stay _away_ from Halamshiral. Ellie most of all.”

Leliana ignored her, looking at Ellana over the map. “What do you think?”

“It does seem dangerous,” Ellana said, as if she hadn’t daydreamed about tracking Solas down ever since she heard the news. “Would he take our people hostage if it gave him an advantage? He could do it if he wanted to, and if we went after him we’d be relying on him not wanting to. That’s a big gamble to make.”

“Didn’t think you’d thought of that,” Sera said. Her shoulders were bowed, and she sounded almost contrite. “You’ve been all sparkly eyed. Thought you were ready to throw yourself at him and hope you stuck.”

“Perhaps not a terrible tactic,” Leliana said softly. Sera ignored her, waiting for Ellana’s reply.

“I want to face him,” Ellana said. She didn’t want to lie, not even for Sera’s good opinion. “Part of me still believes he wouldn’t do anything like take me prisoner. He could have done that easily in the ruins if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t. But that was over a year ago. If he could gain something by using my connections, there’s no reason to think he wouldn’t.” Except that her own heart insisted he wouldn’t do something like that—but Sera was right on that count. She wasn’t objective where Solas was concerned.

“You are still a religious figure,” Leliana said. “There is a good chance that, if he took you prisoner, it would cause a stir. But then…” She let the silence lengthen, and Sera got her meaning before Ellana did.

“Oh no,” Sera said, and her words were a command. “No friggin way. You are _not_ going to let her be some martyr.”

Ellana’s eyes widened.

“Andraste’s Chosen, going up against an elven god,” Harding said. The sardonic lilt in her voice reminded Ellana of Varric. “We could spin that any way we wanted.” She glanced at Ellana, smiled. “Hope we don’t have to, though. For what it’s worth.”

Ellana smiled back gratefully, then turned to Sera. “It’s not about me,” she said. “If it would be useful, I should do it. If it wouldn’t, I shouldn’t.”

 _Don’t look like you want it_ , she commanded herself, but Sera’s angry look told her she might not be succeeding.

“Thought you’d care more about your elves,” Sera said. “You know what it’s going to sound like, don’t you? If he moves against you, it’ll be the good elves versus the bad elves. And you know who will suffer?”

“Everyone,” Ellana said. She tapped her fingers against the table. “And it might benefit Solas if there _is_ a rift like that. The worse humans are to our kind, the better for him. We might undo all the good my trip to Val Royeaux did.”

“Speaking of which,” Leliana said, “your report?”

“Already written. It’s in my travel chest.”

Leliana made a noise of contempt. “Let us hope he has no spies here.”

“Never mind your ruddy reports!” Sera said. “I want to hear why we _should_ go after him. What will we get for it?”

“Maybe nothing,” Leliana said. “But we need information on what he’s doing. We’ve stumbled across some of his operations, but his agents die or escape before they talk. Are the things we find in their hideouts measuring devices, as they seem, or is Solas building something to take down the Veil from multiple locations at once? If we saw a site in action, it might tell us something. And Ellana could get close. Well—maybe.” She looked at Ellana. “Do you think you could?”

Ellana’s heart pounded in her chest. “I think—maybe I could. He hasn’t been as guarded with me as he should be. But if I see something important, there’s a good chance he won’t let me go, and we’ll lose anything I bring to the operation for nothing.”

Leliana shrugged. “Like you said, it is a gamble.”

Ellana waited for Sera to object, but Sera was silent, considering. The silence lengthened, and all Ellana could think was how much she wanted to be irresponsible. She wanted to gamble. She trusted Solas to act in accordance with his own sense of honour, and perhaps that made her an idiot, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like their people had been grasping at straws these long months; here was something they might be able to hold onto. It was a chance, and they had so few of those. Leliana’s attempts at getting spies into Solas’s organisation had been fruitless so far.

“Fine,” Sera said. She groaned at Ellana’s look of the surprise, gesturing. “I want you on opposite ends of the world, but that’s not going to matter if the world ends, is it? We’re back where we were. Coryphy-tits all over again. If it’s not us, it’s Lace’s people taking the risk. And you’re right. He won’t kill elves nearly as easily, I don’t think. Prick.”

“You’d come with me?” Ellana asked. She ought to go alone—but that was a bad idea for its own reasons. She could die by bear before she ever got to Solas.

“We would hardly send you alone,” Leliana said, seeming to read her mind. “You can meet up with the team we have in the area. We won’t take risks we don’t have to. You might think me cold for thinking about what your death or imprisonment would mean, but I assure you—”

“You don’t have to assure me of anything,” Ellana said. “I understand.”

“It’s not an acceptable sacrifice.” Leliana’s gaze was level. “I only meant we could use it, and he will be aware of that.”

 _You know he doesn’t want me dead_ , Ellana thought. He’d said he feared his people might try to kill her, but if it came to a fight between her people and his she knew who she’d bet on. Solas was the real danger, with that magic that could petrify people with a thought. No matter how skilled her people, that would beat any one of them. She wished she knew its limitations.

Ellana glanced from Sera to Leliana and back. “So are we… going?” She tried not to sound too disbelieving.

“I am,” Sera said.

“Obviously, I am not,” Leliana said. “But I will send you with backup. I don’t like you going places without a mage. The boy Vivienne sent is amusing and something of a prodigy.”

What made a mage _amusing_ , by Leliana’s standards? Ellana didn’t get a chance to ask as they all moved on to planning mode. The decision had been made.

She was going to the place where Solas had last been spotted.

 

* * *

 

 

The journey to Halamshiral was short, but not without its troubles. Most of those troubles were caused by the fact that the young mage Vivienne had sent was a devout believer in the Herald and Sera was a devout believer in laughing at people who took themselves too seriously. Tobin was Fereldan, and had been a scared teenager during the mage rebellion. Ellana’s actions with the Inquisition had convinced him his life’s work wouldn’t be complete if he didn’t help her in some way. Needless to say, it was awkward—but he was definitely no agent of Fen’Harel’s despite being an elf. Ellana was sure Vivienne had laughed quietly to herself when she’d sent the poor boy in Leliana’s direction.

“Ugh,” Sera said, scanning the endless fields. “Where are Lace’s people? They’re meant to be here. No offense, but I’ll scream if I don’t see someone who isn’t an elf within the next two minutes.”

“That’s definitely offensive,” Ellana said, but she had to press her mouth closed against laughter anyway. “Don’t mind her too much, Tobin.”

Tobin had been stoop-shouldered and sullen ever since Sera had laughed at his earnest speech about Ellana proving the Maker was a just god, but he perked up at this. “I won’t, my lady.”

Ellana smiled slightly. He sat awkwardly in the saddle, not used to riding, and the overall impression of inexperience was compounded by the long-limbed gawkiness unique to youth. Looking at him made her feel both protective and wistful. He was so sure of things now, at the great age of eighteen; he would learn to be unsure in time.

She hoped he would get the chance to grow up.

“Finally,” Sera said, and Ellana reined her horse in. Sera gestured at a path off the beaten track, forming the border between two fields with trees interspersed, and Ellana and Tobin followed her lead. It was usually best to let Sera lead—though Ellana wondered why they weren’t heading in the direction of the farmhouse she knew was around here somewhere. It was a Nonquisition hideout, and likely what Harding’s people would use as a base. She didn’t question, though—and eventually Sera pulled up short.

“We leave the horses here,” she said. “Tie ‘em up, bring your stuff.”

They tied the horses to likely trees. Tobin insisted on carrying Ellana’s saddlebags, and Ellana had to remind herself he was a fan, not someone who thought one-armed people couldn’t perform basic tasks like carry things. She fingered her Quickshot anyway, reassuring herself of her usefulness.

“Wait here,” Sera said, leaving her companions in the shade of a large tree. Tobin peered after her, and Ellana stood inhaling the loamy scent of soil, wondering if the world was about to end. What would it be like, to exist one moment and not exist the next? Would colours in the sky spell the end of the world? She’d expected to have more time.

_People always expect more time._

“There she is,” Tobin said, and Ellana started. They made their way over to a waving Sera, having to clamber down a hillside. Partway down, rocks formed the entrance to a cave. Harding’s people were inside, and unhurt.

“Inquisitor!” a dwarf said, saluting. Ellana saluted back before she had a chance to question the gesture, her clenched fist knocking against her chest automatically. The two humans in the cave mimicked the gesture in a hurried, awkward way.

“Ah,” she said. “I apologise. Old habits die hard. No need to salute. Status report?”

“They’re all holed up in that old mansion up the way,” the dwarf said. “They set up these… devices… outside, in a circle.”

“How many?” Ellana asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

“Eight total, I think. Can’t say, because we can’t scout up there without being seen, but the spacing…”

Ellana nodded. Eight devices. Eight devices for eight trapped gods? Or was the number random? Did Solas just like the symmetry?

No way to know yet. “And Solas is there?”

“Heron saw him,” the dwarf said, nodding at one of the human scouts. “Tall bald elf overseeing the placement. Gust of wind blew his hood back. That was three days ago. No, four? Not enough sleep, sorry. The sky shimmers.”

Ellana watched Sera’s jaw clench.

“Any strange dreams?” Ellana asked, glancing at the humans. “Or have chances to sleep been so few and far between you haven’t noticed?”

“Think it’s just my fancy, m’lady,” Heron said, shoulders bowed, “but I’ve been hearing howls. In my sleep, I mean.”

Ellana let out a rueful laugh. “I think we’ve all gotten a bit more sensitive to wolf imagery this past year.”

“You as well?” Tobin asked, surprising her. His eyes were keen. “I thought, being Dalish and all…”

She sighed. “I’m ashamed to say I used to love stories about the Dread Wolf. It seemed to me he could do anything he put his mind to, but he’d do it in some way that was interesting instead of boring. I was too intrigued to be afraid.”

Heron smiled a little, scuffed her boot against the rough floor. “I promise none of us are bored, m’lady.”

Sera let out an ugly snort, and Ellana pressed her mouth closed against laughter. The end of the world looming always seemed to bring out the jokesters.

“Tayvin is out there,” the dwarf said. “He’s keeping an eye on things, but he should have been back a little while ago. I was just about to go looking for him when you turned up.”

“We can go instead if you point us in the right direction,” Ellana said. “I’d love for you to get some sleep.”

“I’ll come with you,” Heron said. “I’m fresh.”

The dwarf gave her a look. “You dare say that after last night?”

“I _told_ you Antivan spices disagree with me,” Heron said, eyes narrowed. She shook herself and glanced up at Ellana as if embarrassed. “Shall we head out, m’lady?”

“You can drop the _my ladies_ ,” Ellana said, though Tobin had ignored her and she had little hope for Heron. Still, Heron nodded, and they headed out of the cave onto the gusty hillside, the wind making the grass ripple. Heron explained that the mansion was up the incline, past some trees; they got there in no time at all, taking cover in the almost-woodland. Unfortunately, the trees didn’t go right up to the stately house, and there was no way to approach without being seen. Grass growing past Ellana’s ankles wouldn’t make for good cover.

Everything felt somehow more immediate, and Ellana didn’t know if it was the effect of whatever magic was happening in that grand house or her own nervousness. The thick scent of greenery and soil stuck to the back of her throat, and the breeze against her cheeks could have been a trade wind she was so aware of it. Every part of her was sensitised, watchful.

Had Solas moved on, or was he still there?

“Your friend’s over there,” Sera said to Heron, pointing. It drew Ellana back to the present, and after a long moment of scanning the undergrowth she saw what Sera was pointing at. Tayvin could hardly be seen from this angle, lying next to a fallen tree, and he’d be almost invisible from the house unless the people inside knew where to look. Ellana’s party fell back a little so they could join him without being seen from the silvery windows of the mansion.

“Your worshipfulness,” Tayvin greeted, nodding at them all but gazing at Ellana. He was a dwarf with sandy colouring. “Please tell me we’re going to take one of those things. Or smash all of them. My stomach’s been turning for hours watching.”

“Has anything happened?” Ellana asked.

“Flashes of light inside the house, and I swear I saw one of those green spirits you used to get at rifts. I don’t have Lace’s constitution, begging your pardon. All this stuff makes me break out in a sweat.”

“I’m surprised Harding assigned you,” Ellana said.

“She said, _If anyone won’t fall asleep on the job, it’s you_. Been wondering what I did to offend her ever since.”

“Eyes in the back of her head,” Heron said. “She must have seen you staring at her—” she glanced at Ellana “—behind.”

“I assure you I’ve heard the word arse before, Scout Heron,” Ellana said, eyes on the house. She heard Sera choke next to her, followed by a fond mutter that sounded an awful lot like _nug-plugger_.

“Lady Lavellan is a champion of the people,” Tobin said, sounding proud, and this time it was Ellana choking. She glanced at the two scouts, embarrassed, but they were both smiling at Tobin’s obvious hero-worship.

“Are the devices recovered from other hideouts the same as those?” Ellana asked. If they were the same, there was no need to steal any—besides Tayvin’s obvious desire to.

“These are different,” Tobin said. “Lady Vivienne had us study the others. They were dead.”

“And these aren’t?”

Tobin shook his head.

“What do we think about taking one of them, then?” Ellana asked. “They’ve got so many. Surely they won’t miss one?”

Tayvin chuckled. “I hope they miss one an awful lot. Let’s do it. Teach them to summon demons.”

Ellana wondered what Solas would say to that. Had something gone wrong, to pull spirits through to this side against their will? It would tear at him if he was responsible for more spirits suffering—but then, his ill-considered actions had created the Breach.

She hoped she wasn’t about to emulate him.

“My only worry is that they’re containment devices, and we’ll accidentally rip a hole in the Veil ourselves,” she said. “The Anchor is gone, and I don’t know if Solas can close rifts. Do you sense anything dangerous about the devices, Tobin?”

Tobin shook his head. “No. They aren’t enchanted or cursed or anything, but I don’t know if moving them will cause a problem with the… the Veil.”

“Solas can statue people now,” Sera said. “He _better_ be able to clean up his messes.”

“ _My_ worry is weight,” Heron said, peering at the devices they could see. They resembled the ones Solas had gone around activating during the Inquisition, and Heron was right. They looked… dense, metallic. “When they were taking them out, they worked in groups of four. That doesn’t give us much wiggle room if they see us and try to follow. If Yeoman and Tayvin help lift, we might only need three. Dwarves are stronger than elves as a rule.”

Ellana looked at her remaining arm, wondering if she could be any use lifting. She could probably outlift Tobin even if he used both arms, and Sera was too valuable as cover fire to waste on lifting. Tobin ought to have his hands free to conjure barriers.

“There’s a cart by a farm down the road,” Tayvin said. “We could claim it for our people, use it. We’d only have to lift one of those things a short distance. Once it was on the cart, one person could pull the whole thing, run to the nearest town and get it sent home for Mother Nightingale to look at.”

Ellana had a feeling he expected the rest of them to be fighting while this hypothetical person ran off; that was probably fair. Her people were strong in direct combat. If Solas wasn’t there, they could pull this off.

But what a risk to take.

“We’ll grab one of the horses to hitch to the cart,” Ellana said, muscles tensed for action—and then she paused. “Wait. Do we all agree? This is risky. Perhaps the vote should be unanimous. We should get the other two in on it too.”

Tayvin looked at her seriously. “We’re here for you, and with you. Where you go we’ll follow.”

And so responsibility for the mission fell solely on her shoulders. “Sera? I _had_ thought I’d try to face him on my own, but…”

“Don’t,” Sera advised. “This is so much better. Saying hello by stealing one of his toys? You’ve got my vote.”

“Do we wait till dark?”

“It’d hobble us more than them,” Tayvin said. “They know the territory, and I can just imagine getting crushed under one of those things because I stepped wrong. No thank you.”

“All in agreement?” Ellana asked. If they wanted to do this in the daylight, they’d have to prepare fast—but her body was buzzing, and the action would do her good. This was much better than waiting and watching and doing nothing while the people inside the mansion did who-knew-what with the Veil.

“Aye,” the scouts said. Tobin nodded, and Sera grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

The plan they came up with would require all hands. The dwarf from the cave—who seemed to go by the nickname Yeoman—agreed to carry the device when they told him what they hoped to accomplish, freeing up Ellana and Tobin to provide cover fire with Sera. The remaining human would watch it all unfold from a distance and report back to Leliana if things went wrong. The cart and horse were waiting along a trail unattended, ready for the getaway.

Ellana felt as if she’d swallowed fire, and now it burned uncomfortably in her belly. She watched the team who’d carry the device play with the hastily constructed rope harness Yeoman had insisted they use, and felt both proud and scared. Proud that her people were so ready to risk their lives—and scared that they might have to.

Was the damage they’d do to Solas’s organisation worth the cost? Was it cowardice that pushed Ellana to skirmish instead of offering herself up?

No. She couldn’t trust Solas’s people, and there was no guarantee that he was in the house. This was a good test, in its own makeshift way.

The world was glowing orange with oncoming sunset by the time they started. The device-carrying team strode forward from the woods, three people strong, the sureness of their steps making Ellana’s heart ache. Her team of cover fire elves waited at the tree line, looking for movement from the mansion, but there was none as they watched their companions drop the harness over the nearest device. The rope contraption fell below the thickest point, and Heron and the two dwarves twisted it and heaved, separating to lift it. It worked like a charm, just as Yeoman had predicted, and hard muscles bulged under the weight of the device without dropping it. It was off the ground.

 _Come on_. Ellana would have liked to yell at them to walk faster, but while Solas’s people might not notice one of the devices being taken immediately, they would probably notice a woman yelling at the top of her lungs outside. The encouragement in her throat was trapped there. _Come on, come on_. She fingered her Quickshot, then the daggers strapped to her thigh, then the alchemical jars at her belt. She missed the weight of a properly sized weapon in her hands, a hilt to wring in nervousness before battle. However much she’d trained with the fiddly things she could manage one-armed, they didn’t feel right.

She wished she’d been a mage. What was an arm to a mage in combat? _And while you’re at it_ , she thought sourly, _why not imagine that, if you’d been a mage, you would have figured out Solas was lying sooner?_

She pulled back from wishing and clenched her teeth instead. The device was halfway to the cart, her group following it. Still no movement. Still no movement—

There was a blinding flash like the pulse of a rift, and the team carrying the device dropped. Their pained groans reassured her they lived; she ran to join them, wondering if they needed help, but they were already standing without her urging. They resumed their task with new haste.

“Whatever that thing was doing,” Tobin said, gesturing at the device, “it’s stopped now. They know we’re here.”

“Got company!” Sera yelled. It was underpinned by the familiar twang of her bow, and the equally familiar hum of an arrow striking a barrier. Ellana looked towards the source of the noise—thankfully still some way off—and expected to see some stranger mage. Perhaps that was why it hit her so hard. Her expectations were off. She’d expected lackeys, underlings, who they could scramble with before beating them back.

She hadn’t expected Solas to come striding out of the mansion alone, sending lightning arcing towards the three people carrying the device. Only Tobin’s barrier kept them safe, and it flickered out in the next moment, spent.

The hum of another arrow against a barrier—Solas’s barrier—steadied Ellana. Sera was still firing, unafraid—or very afraid, but refusing to give in to it. Ellana grabbed the dark, glittering flask at her belt and threw it, her aim true.

She had practiced her throws for months, and it was worth it to see the flask explode against Solas’s barrier. The resulting black cloud of powder was quite harmless, and totally blinding. They were safe for another few seconds.

“Go!” Tobin said, grabbing her arm. “Steer the cart! The others are almost there, you must save yourself—”

“That’s not the plan, Tobin,” Ellana said. She glanced at the cart. The dwarves were heaving the device onto it, Heron already on the cart. The entire thing wobbled, and the horse began to move, but the device was loaded.

Perhaps that movement was what saved Heron. Ellana saw the two dwarves go utterly still, blackening as the Qunari had, and her heart twisted in her chest. _No, no, no._ This was all wrong. Solas was meant to be gone. This was her fault, her miscalculation—but Heron might still make it.

“Barriers, Tobin!” Ellana commanded. She threw another blinding flask at Solas, but this one he had the presence of mind to freeze before it reached him, and the frozen glass thunked harmlessly off his barrier. Sera fired arrow after arrow, and nothing stuck. His barrier ought to be depleted by now, but it shone thick and strong as ever.

 _How is it fair_ _that we have to face him?_ Ellana wondered, firing her Quickshot in time with Sera, using the exploding bolts to little effect. Corypheus had been hard enough, but he wasn’t impervious to arrows. Ellana longed for her old sword to swing at that barrier, wanting to hammer at it until it gave.

There was a whoop from the cart. She twisted to look at Heron and felt her heart flip, seeing the cart speeding away. Solas seemed to see it at the same time, because he sent a fireball chasing after it. Ellana sucked in a breath.

Next to her, Tobin yelled a denial, and a stream of ice from his staff intercepted the burst of flame. It gained them Solas’s attention, and Ellana felt Tobin freeze beside her.

No—he didn’t freeze. His skin blackened as she watched. Earnest eyes glazed over, sightless, and Ellana let out a howl for the bright, embarrassingly sincere boy she’d led to his death. She faced Solas—and the world paused. He’d recognised her at last, and it had stopped him in his tracks. Finally the barrier flickered out, no longer tethered by his focus. It was what Ellana had wanted, a chance to slow him, but she wasn’t prepared for the sight of one of Sera’s arrows finding its mark at his shoulder. He hissed, turned to look at Sera. His eyes glowed, ready to turn her friend to stone.

“Not Sera!” Ellana yelled, guilt and horror alive inside of her as she jumped between the two of them. Could her body protect Sera from his magic? She hit the ground awkwardly, rolled and faced him—and saw him looking in wonder past her.

“Not Sera,” he echoed.

 _What?_ Had he only now recognised Sera? Was this sentiment, or—

“I’ll kill you!” Sera yelled, moving so Ellana wasn’t in the way, but Ellana moved again to block her. If she could shield Sera from Solas, she would. Sera was still up and moving, still alive—

Sera cried out in pain as a jet of ice froze her hand where it held the bow. The ice expanded, and by the time Sera tried to draw again the string was useless, frozen. The stream of curses Sera let out was bracing, but not helpful. Ellana reached for a flask.

“Please do not fight me,” Solas said. His voice made her stomach hurt and her eyes burn, Tobin’s blackened face clear in her memory. “Your companion has absconded with one of my collectors, and you may count that a victory. I would prefer not to hurt you.”

Ellana trembled, unable to meet his gaze. So different from their meeting in the Fade—but she’d known that meeting in the real world would be different. How had she forgotten? How had she allowed herself to be excited at the faint possibility of seeing him again?

Had she sacrificed loyal people for the sake of her own giddiness? No—she’d expected him gone by now, but trackable. That was her expectation.

“The spell is reversible,” Solas said, and finally Ellana could look up.

“They’re not dead?” she asked. She couldn’t stand the hopeful waver in her voice.

“They may yet live,” Solas said. He didn’t add _if I decide they should_ , but his meaning was clear nonetheless. He looked past her at Sera, and Ellana looked too. The bow was frozen to Sera’s hand, and her feet were planted, smoky green rift magic shimmering around them. Solas’s eyes glowed once more. Ellana took a step back, tried to shield Sera again, but nothing happened.

“Remarkable,” Solas breathed after a long moment.

“Come a bit closer,” Sera said. “I’ll show you something even more remarkable.”

His lips quirked. “I assume it’s your bow swung at some speed.” The amusement dropped from his face, and something electric skittered over Ellana’s skin. His eyes glowed again, a sustained glow this time, and he drew himself up. Shadows gathered around him—at his throat, his hands, the corners of his eyes. “What are you?” he asked in a booming voice Ellana barely recognised. It pounded against her ears.

Sera cried out. She was held in place still, but she bent double, groaning. “I’m me! I’m just me! Friggin… Eugh!”

Solas was hurting her. Ellana flew at him, hoping to knock him down bodily, but he conjured a barrier with a thought; all her velocity reversed on impact to throw her away from him. She clenched her teeth to try again, but by the time she’d regained her balance the experiment seemed to be over. The strange electricity dampened, and Solas no longer gathered darkness to him—but he still watched Sera as if she held the key to a great mystery.

“Andruil’s Champion,” he said. His tone was one of wonder. “It should be impossible.”

“I’m not some demon thing,” Sera rasped, still bent over.

“No,” Solas agreed. “You are something quite different. And impossible, yet here you are. How did I not see it? I sensed… but you were _empty_ …”

“The _furthest from what I’m meant to be_ , I remember.” Sera straightened, jaw clenched. “You can stuff that, and stuff this, and… Urgh!” She managed to tear her hand free from her bow at last, the ice thawed, but the weapon was ruined. She looked at Ellana. “Will you kill him? _Please_? Or kill me, and save me listening to him?”

“Only one of those things is possible for me, and you know I won’t do it,” Ellana said. She looked at Solas. “Sera has never been _empty_.”

“Aw, Ellie,” Sera said. “So nice of you to stand up for me. No need though. He mistakes me for someone who cares.”

“A bad habit I cannot do away with, it seems,” Solas said. “Do you have any idea—”

Running footsteps halted his words. Ellana looked past him and saw three elves, all clutching weapons. Solas’s voice went frosty.

“I told you to stay inside,” he said without turning to look at them.

“The room is secure,” one of the elves said. He stood tall, but his grip on his weapon betrayed nervousness. He didn’t say _we thought you might need help_ , but that too was obvious in his bearing.

“Are these prisoners?” asked a different elf—a thin mage with sunken cheeks and scraggly red hair. “Is that—is that _the Inquisitor_?”

Solas pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. His back was to his people, and so they didn’t see the sorrow in his expression—but Ellana did. Quite suddenly, she was convinced she and Sera hadn’t been prisoners, not until that mage recognised her for what she was.

She was almost sure he would have let her go, no matter the inconvenience. Now he had his people to answer to.

“I get that a lot,” Ellana said, not sure what made her say it. The bowing of Solas’s normally straight shoulders, perhaps. She continued in a voice she recognised as her best imitation of Dorian. “Easy mistake to make, really. One-armed Dalish elf trying to stop the end of the world… the resemblance is uncanny, but I assure you I’m better looking.”

Sera, at least, was amused. The elves behind Solas just looked confused and hostile, and Solas looked—tired. His eyes rose to meet hers, and her stomach flattened out. Resignation and longing were written across his face. She knew he wished them alone—wished to explain, or perhaps to think about Sera and _Andruil’s Champion_ some more. But the world rarely gave people what they wanted.

At last he turned, finally looking at his agents. He waved a hand at Ellana and Sera. “Allow me to introduce the former Inquisitor, Ellana Lavellan, and her loyal companion Sera. Please escort them inside.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and Sera enter the magic mystery mansion; Solas remembers what it's like to have Sera around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's commented/kudo'd/bookmarked! Still having so much fun. The "please talk to me" plea continues. Rating goes up a little here though the passage is short. If sexy stuff makes you uncomfortable ctrl+f to "it hadn't worked out" after "he desired her" (lol).

“Come along,” the redhaired mage mumbled, bony shoulders raised protectively like he expected to be hit. Ellana glanced at Sera, wondering if she’d fight, but Sera clenched her fists and her jaw and followed when Solas walked towards the front of the house. The agents fell in behind them uneasily, looking at the new statues in the surrounding wilderness. Ellana didn’t look because she couldn’t bear to. When could she ask Solas to un-statue them? _Could_ she ask?

They passed through large double doors into a tiled foyer.

“If you would be so kind as to hand off your weapons,” Solas said with a wave of his hand, not meeting her eyes. He kept his distance as the redhead divested her of knives and flasks and bolts. The agent neglected to take her Quickshot, and she thought it a foolish courtesy. She could easily bludgeon someone with it if she had to—but she kept that conjecture to herself. Beside her, Sera was handing off her weapons in total silence. The air of the mansion was thick and heavy, and it made the hairs on the back of Ellana’s neck stand up; it had to be worse for Sera with her intrinsic fear of magic.

“Come,” Solas said, and their morose little group followed him again. They trekked up a wide stair and down a hallway, and Ellana thought she caught glimpses of the mansion’s other inhabitants, but anyone who watched made sure to do so from a distance. How many elves under this roof? Seven? Eight? Would any be regretting their allegiance to Solas by now?

He led their group to a large suite, holding the door open for them to enter. None of his agents followed her and Sera inside, but they didn’t leave either. The way they watched Solas was… odd to witness, for all that their expressions were familiar enough. People had sometimes looked at her that way, with the same furious will to please evident in their faces, and a kind of readiness that said they could jump into action on her behalf at any moment.  

“I regret that we cannot speak yet,” Solas said. He stood in the doorway with his hands at his sides. “I must attend to the mess outside. Please make yourselves as comfortable as may be.”

Ellana’s mouth opened, but he closed the door before she could speak, and the next moment the room lit up. Solas’s magic ran like fine trim around the circumference of the suite, glowing along the walls and then dissipating. The magic faded, and it looked like an ordinary room again.

She tried to touch the doorknob and felt the tingle of a magic barrier. They wouldn’t be getting out by their own strength any time soon, though Ellana couldn’t help taking note of what furniture could be thrown to break the windows if the barrier lapsed. It was a typical Orlesian noble’s room, filled with a variety of things to throw: dresser, desk, mirror, ornaments.

Sera stood motionlessly in the middle of it all.

“Sera…”

Sera twitched, and some colour returned to her face. “I don’t have a demon inside me,” she said, meeting Ellana’s gaze. “No matter what he says.”

“I know.”

Sera crossed her arms. “You’d say anything just now. Look at your face.”

Ellana forced herself to smile wryly. “You said you didn’t have a demon inside of you. I assure you I believe it.”

“And your Andy-thing?”                                    

Ellana looked away. The windows had a view of something that might have been a manicured garden ten years ago, fallen to ruin, and she pretended some interest in the sight. Dalish though she was, she had no idea what to make of Solas’s words. He’d called Sera Andruil’s Champion after unsuccessfully trying to perform magic on her, which had to mean Sera was protected somehow—but how could that be?

“I haven’t heard of anything like it,” she said at last. “Or do you mean who is Andruil? She’s the goddess of the hunt.”

“Right,” Sera said. “Hunter. Bow and arrow. Makes sense, but doesn’t make me hers. I don’t…” She walked to the bed and sat down in an uncharacteristic show of tiredness. “I don’t want that.”

“Nothing could ever make you not you,” Ellana said. She wished she could wipe the contorted expression from Sera’s face.

“Nothing but the Veil dropping, and—hey, wait. I remember something. Isn’t that exactly what Mister Fadebits will do if we don’t stop him? Right, yeah. Now I remember. It is.”

Ellana’s stomach was tight with anguish. How to speak to this fear without empty words of comfort? “We’re not going to let that happen, Sera. I promise.”

For a long time Sera was silent. Ellana wished that she’d pace, or cuss, or even get angry at her, call her a liar, but instead she sat utterly still. Sera and stillness didn’t go together; it was like Cole and complete sentences or Varric and done-up collars. Ellana moved to sit next to her, wondering if she’d object to a hug—but Sera would probably see physical comfort as pity, when in reality Ellana was more desperate for comfort than she was. She sat next to Sera without speaking, not touching but there.

“What about you?” Sera said at last. “Noticed I wasn’t the only one shooting him. Thanks for that, by the way. Wasn’t a hundred sure you would.”

Sera had always been an expert at pushing things away from herself, and Ellana didn’t mind going along with it now. She’d embrace whatever would help Sera feel better.

It was her fault they were in this mess.

“I thought you would have noticed how long it took me to shoot,” she said ruefully, not commenting on the subject change.

“I did. Don’t blame you for being shocked though. I was too.”

“You were? I didn’t notice.”

“Well. Shocked doesn’t mean _not shooting at things_.”

Ellana laughed. “You’re definitely my champion before you’re Andruil’s.”

Sera looked up at her, and finally a smile pulled at her mouth. “Yeah?”

“Come on, Sera. You’re you. You’re Red Jenny. Champion of the little people. No matter what this Andruil business means, that’s still true.”

Sera fell back onto the bed, sighing heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. I hope. Thanks, you.”

“Any time.”

“So. Fadebits is out there, maybe taking in the statues, maybe communing with demons. What will you say to him?”

“I don’t know. I was thinking of leading with _please unkill my people_.”

Sera shivered. “Not sorry that business didn’t work on me. I could feel it, sort of, like it was on my skin, but it couldn’t come in. He would’ve statued me along with the rest of them if he could. Not you, though.”

“What a joy it is to be me,” Ellana said—but she knew very well that Solas could have incapacitated her. _She_ wasn’t some god-being’s champion. She was grateful, in her way, though she’d never admit it. “I’m sorry, Sera. To you and to—”

“Shut it. It was a decision we all made. None of us thought he’d be in. Doesn’t stick around, does he?”

“I imagined us slowly tracking him down,” Ellana confessed. “Taking on his bases one by one. I wasn’t ready to see him, not like this.”

Sera groaned. “Me neither. I thought of a hundred things to say, and none of them came up.”

“Really? _I’ll kill you_ wasn’t one of them?”

“Okay. _That_ one came up just as the doctor ordered.” A grin was pulling at Sera’s mouth. She propped her head up to look at Ellana. “Ellie. We’ll get through it, yeah? If I am this champion thing, maybe it’s useful. I’ll stuff this elfy shit so far up his elfy arse he won’t be able to see straight. And we’ll get out, and we’ll stop him. Heron got away, and they don’t even know about Childs.”

Warmth flooded Ellana’s body. As long as she had Sera on her side, she had an army. And that wasn’t all. With a rueful smile she fished Dorian’s messaging crystal out of her breast band.

“He’s better than this,” Ellana said, jerking her head to indicate Solas. “He’s being stupid where I’m concerned. All to the good, I suppose.”

Sera grinned.

“Dorian,” Ellana said, hands wrapped around the crystal. “You there? It’s too early to be drunk and too late to be hungover. Come on.”

The crystal glowed in her hand. “Ellana? Your timing is terrible. Can we delay—”

“I’m in a mansion near Halamshiral with Solas’s people. And Solas. Sera and I are prisoners.”

“Andraste’s tits.”

Dorian’s dry delivery made both of them shake with laughter, though it was the silent kind.

“Sera’s with you, then?”

“Hello, Dorian.

“Hello, Sera. I’d ask _staying out of trouble_ , but I see it’s inappropriate.”

“I’m not a statue,” Sera said. “I’m doing one better than most.”

All the humour in Ellana’s body dried up. She saw Tobin’s young face hardening into stone. Would warmth and life ever return to his body?

“Solas could be back at any time,” Ellana said to Dorian. “I just wanted to let you know. Keep your crystal close.”

“I’ll contact Lady Nightingale, of course.”

“She should find out from others, but it can’t hurt for you to remain in contact. Thank you, Dorian. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yes, well. At least you’re together. Be careful. I’m ready to deliver sage advice at a moment’s notice, of course.”

“Of course. Good evening, Dorian.”

The crystal’s light faded, and Ellana tucked it back into her clothes. It was uncomfortable against her breast, but she’d soon get used to the hard press of it again. She looked at Sera.

“And now we wait, I suppose.”

Sera’s pained groan echoed her own sentiments perfectly. “You have a plan?” Sera asked, still lying back on the bed.

Ellana wished she did. In the Fade things were easy. She and Solas could pretend their conflict lay in a different world, disconnected from their time together. Now Ellana’s people were running with equipment she’d stolen from him, there were three statues that used to be her people in the yard, and she and Sera were prisoners. Simple manipulation was beyond her. How could she hope to pretend their attraction mattered in the face of so many interfering factors? Would Leliana expect her to play an angle? She couldn’t think it would help. Today had been a brutal reminder that they were on opposing sides—the leaders of opposing sides.

She wishes with all her being that he’d been gone. Why did he have to be home, when he’d been impossible to track down until now?

Her silence drew out, thoughts spinning.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Sera said.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Kill him.”

Ellana laughed. She was glad it wasn’t an option.

“Fine, don’t kill him. Blink a lot and say _please help my people and let Sera go. I’ll do anything._ ” Sera looked up at her. “Okay, no. Can’t suggest that. Disgusting, that is.”

It was, in its way, and Solas would never go for it besides. Ellana let herself fall back so she was lying next to Sera, feet hanging off the side of the bed. “I wish I had what you and Dagna have,” she said. The moment it was out, she wanted to take it back—but that didn’t make it untrue. She wished for an uncomplicated relationship where she could love Solas and he could love her back and it wouldn’t be a betrayal. Dagna was Sera’s charm against a terrible world; once, Solas had been hers.

“Bet you do,” Sera said. “It’s the best.”

Ellana thought back to falling for an introverted apostate, distant as that time seemed. She remembered him probing her left hand to study the Anchor as they travelled, his fingers firm and warm and making her breath come short. Even when the Anchor was behaving he had watched her as if the world around didn’t exist. That intense focus had flattered her, attracted her. What else? His self-assurance, so at odds with his place in the world. His painting, his solitude. Even his prickliness had seemed charming at times; she had enjoyed being one of the few people he was willing to think the best of.

How had she failed to notice how strange he was? No—she’d known he was strange. But people _were_ strange. Every person she met was unique, odd, not what she expected. Of her companions only Blackwall had seemed run-of-the-mill, and that was because he was wearing a false self. Real people were full of surprises.

Usually the surprise wasn’t _I’m Fen’Harel_.

“He should be back by now,” Sera said. “How long does it take to bring in a few statues? He’s probably sitting somewhere feeling sorry for himself.”

“Something we have in common,” Ellana said.

“Yeah, but you’re not the one trying to destroy the world. You’re _good_.”

“He’s not evil. Just…” Words failed her. Solas had different priorities. He’d lived on a different scale than they had.

“An utter shit-bag, yeah? Sorry. Did I say that out loud?”

Ellana smiled. “Sometimes I try to imagine it. His perspective. If I could make our people immortal, stronger, less prone to disease… would I? The world before the Veil sounds pretty amazing, from a certain angle. I can barely imagine it, but think of how much you could do.”

Sera looked at her sideways. “It’s boring. Forming the world with a thought? Sounds stupid. I friggin hate the Fade. Who wants it closer?”

“You mean limitations make life more interesting?”

Sera snorted. “Whatever you say. I just mean I’m better _here_ with the Fade _over there_.”

Ellana laughed, and that was when the door opened. She sat abruptly, and again she expected some lackey—and again it was Solas. He stepped into the room past the barrier as if it wasn’t there.  

“Great,” Sera said, not getting up. She kept her hands folded over her stomach like an artist’s rendering of repose. “Tell me when we’re done here.”

If only it was possible to borrow someone else’s disinterest. Sera had plenty to spare, and Ellana had none. Her body was tight as a wire as she sat on the bed waiting for Solas to speak, her eyes locked with his. He looked back at her with the same intensity for all that it was going dark outside. The next moment, as if he had caught her thoughts on the dimness of the room, all of the wall sconces burst into flame, their bronze backing casting off golden light. Ellana’s stomach pulled, waiting for him to say something.

“Your presence here was unexpected,” he said at last, soft-voiced.

“So was yours.”

“Ah. Not intentional, then.”

“Definitely not.”

“You ruined everything,” Sera agreed. “Like usual.”

“Your input is valued as always, Sera.” The edge of exasperation in Solas’s voice made Ellana’s heart hurt. With Sera here, it almost felt like—like…

Like the Inquisition. When things still made sense, no matter how ridiculous they’d been. Dorian and Varric taking bets on her survival, the Chantry hounding her, Vivienne a bulwark. She longed for it like nothing else.

She swallowed hard. It wasn’t the Inquisition. Solas was her enemy—but he was still himself. She met his gaze. “Will you release them?”

“Not just now. They are another complication. But eventually, yes. I don’t mean to cause you pain.”

“Good job,” Sera said, eyes closed. “Really outdoing yourself.”

Solas looked at her, first with annoyance—and then with something softer. He’d forgotten what it was like to have Sera near, Ellana could tell. Soon they’d both be nostalgic.

“Will you deny Andruil’s spirit inside of you?” he asked Sera.

Sera propped herself up on her elbows. “Deny everything? Sounds like a plan.”

“Your habit, yes. I had hoped you might show an interest.”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t be a mass-murdering shithead. Poor both of us.”

Ellana took a long breath. Sera and Solas had always been like fire and oil together, and for a moment she wondered how they’d made it work for as long as they had—then she shook herself. Sera never had a real reason to resent Solas before. She’d thought Solas was annoying, condescending, elfy in the most unforgivable way—but she hadn’t hated him, Ellana thought. Now she had every reason.

So did Ellana, for that matter. Yet hate felt out of reach, a vague emotion in comparison to all the things she _did_ feel.

“Did you get along with Andruil?” Ellana asked, hoping to distract him from Sera’s animosity.

“Andruil was a slave to her own sense of self-importance,” he said. “She had redeeming qualities once; they faded long before I took up arms against her.” Solas was looking at Sera, his mouth tight. “Once, she might have approved of an operation like the Red Jennies. Before her power corrupted her.”

“Sera is better than that,” Ellana said. “She’s not Andruil.”

“I never said she was.”

“So what is a champion?” Ellana asked.

“Ugh,” Sera said. “Don’t do the work for him. I don’t want to know. Don’t ask.”

Solas glared. “Your capacity for ignorance astounds me, even after all this time.”

“Your capacity for—you know what? Not worth it. You’re the worst kind of hypocrite, and you’re not worth it. Will you leave? I’d storm off, but I’m stuck here.”

Ellana sat rigidly, waiting for Solas to leave in disgust. He didn’t. He stood, his hands clasped tightly behind him. She could feel her muscles clenching, ready for a fight, for whatever he said next.

“Ellana?” he said instead. Her breath shivered out of her. “Will you join me?”

“If I can,” she said. She cast a glance at the open door—the barrier—and he nodded. He left the room. More pyrotechnics ensued, and when she followed him out into the hallway nothing stopped her. A brief gesture from Solas resealed the room, and then he was leading her down the hall. The entire mansion felt strange; cold and hot flushed against her skin, eerie and unwelcome. He led her downstairs into a small, deserted library and closed the door behind her. Again lights flared to life around the room, and she watched the candles flicker for a moment before she examined the bookshelves. Not a private collection of his, she thought; it predated Solas’s arrival here. There were too many Orlesian popular novels for it all to belong to him.

“Andruil ought to be trapped,” Solas said without prompting. “I detected echoes of her in Sera—like resonance. But now her protection stretches out over Sera directly. It was wholly unexpected.”

“Your magic doesn’t work on her.”

“That kind of magic doesn’t,” Solas agreed. Ellana kept her back to him, even though it made her shiver. Her eyes were on the gold-striped spine of a book, unseeing, but Solas didn’t know she saw nothing. It spared her from meeting his gaze.

“I never expected you here,” Solas said, and his voice had deepened. Shivers raced down her spine. “What possessed you?”

Ellana moved away from the bookcase to the dark blue square of a window. It threw her reflection back at her, and she tried to look past it. “We’re at war, Solas. We had information, and we acted on it. I thought it would be a step closer to you, not…”

“Not the final step? I can imagine what you expected.”

“Will you tell me what you’re doing here?”

“No.”

Her shoulders rose. “Worth a shot.”

“Ellana…”

She tried not to tremble at the sound of his voice. Perhaps she ought to face him; facing away was only making shivers run down her spine. They were so close to one another here, a distance that could be bridged in steps, in seconds. In the Fade his hands had pulled her in: urgent, needy. Neither of them could afford to need the other in this reality.

“What a shame there’s no eluvian for you to disappear through the moment I arrive,” she said. “You must miss the drama of that old gesture.”

“There is,” Solas said. “Unfortunately, I have duties here.”

“Ah.”

She forgot to look past the reflection of the room in the window, and met his gaze in it.

“I will need to find out more about Sera,” Solas said. “It changes things. A lot of things.”

A tiny seed of hope unfurled inside of her. “You don’t know everything.”

“I never claimed to.”

She turned. “Solas,” she said urgently. “Stop this quest. By all means, research Sera. I’ll get her to cooperate as much as I can. Put your hope in something that doesn’t lead to death.”

“You forget. My mission isn’t to revive Andruil. It is to restore our entire race.”

“ _Your_ race.”

“You are one of the People. The best of them, by my estimation.”

“I’m not.” She set a hand to her Quickshot, as close as she could get to folding her arms. “We’re all like this. I’m nothing special.”

The way he looked at her said he didn’t believe her—so how could she convince him it was true? There was no way, but she wished for one. She tried a different tack. “Perhaps our restoration is already at hand, and Andruil is the first seedling.”

“A natural progression tending towards order instead of chaos? It would be the first time in history.”

“Says the one _causing_ half the chaos.” She gestured at the window as if she could summon the Breach with a wave of her hand. “There have been plenty of disruptions that might have jogged something loose. The Breach, all those rifts, all the aftereffects of the Mage Rebellion. Mythal and an old god are loose in the world somewhere, possibly together—”

“Not together,” Solas said, and how could he know that? She soldiered on.

“—and a spirit walked into the world and became a young man. He could have been a real one, I think, if we’d let Varric take him in hand.”

“That would have perverted his essence. I do not believe he could have been happy.”

She clenched her jaw. Letting Solas keep Cole a spirit was one of the decisions she regretted most, much as Cole had helped her in that form. She cared for him as he was, but his maintaining the personality she knew was more for her benefit than his; it was like loving a persistent fog determined to please her. She wished she had allowed him to continue on the path she’d knocked him down from.

“Perhaps happiness isn’t the greatest aspiration for a being ready to transform itself into something different,” she said. She couldn’t help the note of anger that crept into her voice; would she have sided with Varric if she hadn’t been a moon-eyed idiot? “Perhaps people have a right to choose their own fate.”

“You say that—but you hold that living in a world where will and spirit affect reality is undesirable?”

Ellana took a deep breath, ready to argue—but she stopped herself. They could discuss this until the next Blight and nothing would change. Solas watched her swallow her arguments, and though both their tempers had been flickering to life during the discussion, he looked as if he as unprepared for it to stop.

“I’m sure you have plenty of followers to discuss the merits of New Arlathan with,” she said curtly. “There’s no need for us to waste time on it.”

It was intentionally cruel, dismissive. He bent his head away from her. With the distraction of his gaze gone, her eyes were drawn to his clothing. Though she’d seen it in the Fade, it was strange to see him in sober hues instead of earthen ones. His shirt was black and high-necked, the fabric finely woven and embroidered in silver. She had a good notion of what it would feel like against her skin—but its twin in the Fade couldn’t be exactly the same as the real garment in front of her. The thought of unexplored territory made her fingers itch. In another world, she could hook those impatient fingers in his belt and pull him close, press her palms to his chest. She could push the shirt aside and get to his skin beneath it.

She turned to the window. “What’s your plan, now that we’ve complicated everything?”

“I want to understand how Andruil is affecting Sera.” His voice was soft and neutral again, no longer with that fire underneath. “Then our research here must continue.”

“So you didn’t need eight of those things?”

“Perhaps not,” Solas said. “If you wish to leave, it would be better not to ask questions such as that.”

“You mean to let us go, then?”

There was a long silence. She glanced back and saw the hand at his side twitch as if he too were realising how easy it would be to reach out. Easy—and impossible. She imagined his fingers sliding along her jaw, forcing her to face him. For a moment she fantasised about being weak, giving in, her body an offering instead of a weapon angled against him.

She thought of Tobin, heard his earnest voice proclaiming her holiness. _The Herald of Andraste is a lifetime appointment_ , he’d said this morning, making Sera groan. _It means more than a mark to all of us._

“If I can do so without risking my operation, I will,” Solas said. “It will take some time. Can I expect your people battering down the doors soon?”

“The command was _no rescues_ , though you can’t know whether I’m just saying that to catch you unaware.”

“I cannot,” he agreed. “And we both know I’ve been a fool in my dealings with you thus far.”

She waved her Quickshot. The weight of it was beginning to pull, but she considered it training—something to exercise the muscles that atrophied when she didn’t wear an attachment. “It did cross my mind I could bludgeon someone with this.”

He smiled. “I was thinking primarily of our meetings this past month and the messaging crystal you wear against your breast, but I suppose your device presents a threat too. A mild one.”

She sucked in a breath, too surprised to act blasé. “You knew about the crystal?”

“They have an odd hum, and there is something of Dorian in the air about you.”

For a moment Ellana pictured herself with a phantom moustache. “And here I thought I was being so sneaky.”

“In your defence, even most mages would overlook it. As mine did.”

She faced him again and regarded him, arms behind her back in imitation of his favoured posture. “I’m not handing it over.”

His eyes found the crystal’s location beneath her tunic as if it glowed even now; she looked down to make sure it didn’t. When she looked up again he was still gazing at the spot—and then his eyes tracked up to meet hers. She realised by his expression what her pose suggested, arms back as if challenging him to take the crystal from her breast band himself. She swallowed and laid her hand over the crystal, and finally he looked away. Was his face flushed, or was that the warm light from the candles—or, worse, her own fancy? She was hardly a seductress. Part of her left arm was a miniature crossbow.

The way Solas looked at her suggested none of that mattered: he desired her. But he’d desired her in the Inquisition as well, and he’d been able to resist her well enough then—mostly. Save for one night when she’d snuck into his rotunda and found him sleeping at his desk, he’d kept himself from touching her beneath her clothes. She remembered her half-crazed state that night, how she’d gasped and sworn when he pulled her up against him in his lap, one of his hands sliding around to touch between her legs. She remembered pushing for more contact, his teeth against the skin at the side of her neck, his cock hard against her as his hands drove her to distraction. She’d come three times with nothing but his fingers inside of her, but when she untangled herself and turned to face him, desperate to get her hands or her mouth or her self on him, he had held up his hands in a silent gesture of refusal. _Please_ , he’d said, with self-effacing humour that made the rejection all the harder to comprehend.

 _Do Dreamers have to be sexually frustrated?_ she’d asked, beyond frustrated herself. She’d _wanted_ to. She’d never wanted a man the way she wanted him, with a kind of reckless desire that would push past any reservations she had. Sucking someone off had always been a favour for a favour deal for her, not something she fantasised about—until now. She wanted to accuse him of unfairness, as if the lingering pulse in her body was a favour she did him and not the other way round. His fingers were slick with her wetness.

 _Something like that_ , he’d demurred, and she’d resolved not to embarrass herself by coming in front of him again if he wouldn’t; she’d thought he would crack eventually, give in to the tide between them.

It hadn’t worked out. And now they were standing opposite each other, enemies, and the chance for something good was over—had never existed at all, in fact. But she still mourned its loss.

“Keep the crystal,” Solas said at last. “Your people already know where you are. If I need to take it from you I will.”

“Magnanimous.”

“I try to be. Ellana…”

She shifted. She wished she hadn’t thought of that night. The warmth between her legs was mortifying, even if he’d never know. She reminded herself he would kill everyone she loved if he got his way. “What?”

His mouth opened. She braced herself for something terrible, something to make the day worse—but he merely exhaled. “I—should get back to my work. I will see some things are sent to your room; I would prefer if you didn’t harass my people when they deliver them. When I can, I’ll release you. Can you wait until then?”

She nearly laughed. Harass his people? She wondered if he meant violent escape attempts or something else. She would be perfectly polite.

She would find a way to shake their conviction.

“Sera and I will be civil,” she promised. “Does this mean we’re on our own for the night?”

His head jerked in a nod. “Examining Sera can wait until morning.”

It occurred to Ellana just how torturous that would be for Sera. She hated any suggestion of magic, and of elven powers. Could they escape before morning?

Not with that shield in place; she’d have to pay attention when Solas escorted her back to the room and when the servants delivered things. Perhaps there was a way out of this mess that could keep Sera sane.

Solas led her out of the library. An agent of his stood in the hallway, arms crossed and watching as they passed. This one wasn’t skittish like others she’d seen. He was proud, angry—the kind of person Solas had warned her might try to kill her against orders. She wondered if the barrier around the room barred entry as well as exit, and had a feeling it did.

Once they were back upstairs, at the door, Solas sighed. “Please do not attempt escape.”

She glanced at him. Did he think _please_ some magic word? He read the doubt in her expression.

“I said I would, but I do not have to restore your people to you,” he said. “It would be easier for me if they remained as they are.”

Her chest ached. “You’re threatening me?”

“Do I ever do otherwise?” He didn’t meet her gaze. “You may be sure I regret every instance, but that does not change our positions.”

She nodded. “Understood.” She reached for the door handle at the same time he did, and for a breathless moment they almost touched; her fingers were a thought away from his. She pulled her hand back in time. His stopped where it was, hovered, then opened the door for her. A gesture removed the barrier, and she stepped back into the room. Sera was asleep on the bed, and she looked smaller in sleep. Ellana wished she could protect her.

 _You can’t protect anyone_ , she thought at herself angrily. Every liberty she had now was granted by Solas. The fact that he hated it more than she did meant little. She turned to look at him.

“Good night,” she said. She wouldn’t yell or scream. Making him feel bad wouldn’t satisfy her, and it would strain their relationship further when she needed every boon she had.

His smile was pained. “Sleep well, Ellana.”

There was no way she would, of course. Not under the same roof, divided by ideological stances instead of the comforting physical distance they were both used to. There was a reason the memory of his hands on her had come up tonight; her body still craved him, not caring about what it would mean. It was a traitor, and in the right circumstances it would betray her. She would step willingly into his arms and give up everything she stood for.

 _No_. Not unless it benefited her people. She would be strong somehow. Sera’s presence would help.

“You as well,” she said at last, and he nodded and closed the door. The barrier flared back into being.

He was out of reach once more.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun in the magic mystery mansion continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Solas PoV chapter! Sorry for the completely hand-wavey objectives; everything is random guesses that serve the story I want to tell.

In the Inquisition, there was always someone interfering. It was impossible to go unquestioned for more than a week, whether it was Varric’s well-meaning overtures of friendship or Dorian’s acerbic probing or even Josephine’s attempts to accommodate everyone. Most of his agents now wouldn’t dream of asking about Ellana’s presence here, not unless he gave some signal that he wished to talk about it.

Hathrial was unlike his agents in that way. He was a zealot; Solas hadn’t missed the manner in which he looked at Ellana when they passed him in the hallway. Solas had kept his own body between Hathrial and Ellana, but it had barely been enough to curb the protective need that tightened his muscles and thickened his voice in his throat. It had been the fear of what Hathrial might do if given half a chance—what he might convince the others to do—that had made Solas threaten her.

He didn’t regret it. It was necessary.

“They have relied on your good graces for too long,” Hathrial argued now. They were alone in the lab, most of the others dealing with the aftermath of Ellana’s arrival. Solas had wanted to restore the prior test conditions so they could resume experiments tomorrow, but Hathrial wouldn’t leave him be. “They ought to be made an example of.”

“That is my decision to make, not yours.”

“You would risk the future for an old flame?” Hathrial asked, agitation growing. “She’s a traitor to our people. They both are!”

“Calm yourself.” The state of reality in their base was altered; Hathrial’s heightened emotions might draw anything. Solas should have taken this conversation elsewhere—but he hadn’t wanted to leave the mansion. “They are no threat to you.”

“And to our goal?”

Solas levelled him with a glare that would have made any of the others shrink back in fear; Hathrial barely shifted. That was the problem with zealots. They had no fear for their own lives, and so there was no way to bully them into submission. They could only be convinced and steered, and it required patience. Solas had no patience to spare, not just now. He wanted to be alone.

_He wanted…_

He shook himself.  “Do not think me weak, Lethallin. If you doubt our cause, perhaps another ought to fill your position. Abelas has expressed an interest in the experiments.”

At last Hathrial looked contrite. He was one of the few former slaves with a build that didn’t suggest a childhood of missed meals and deprivation, though he had plenty of scars. As he argued his chest had been puffing up, making his already large body look bigger, but now he reined his arrogance in. His shoulders lowered. “I only care for the cause.”

“Your loyalty is valued. But I will not be insulted.” It was better to be firm, distant. He looked at the empty lab, wishing their experiment from earlier hadn’t been cut short. He wanted to lose himself in data, wrapping magic and knowledge about him. They had repositioned the collectors to be equidistant once more, but his people needed rest before they tried again, and the Veil had to be adjusted. Solas would have to content himself with lesser projects.

Or sleep—but he was afraid of what he might do in his sleep.

Running footsteps in the hall made him draw back from his thoughts, and he and Hathrial turned to the door. Reva—red-haired, mousy but energetic—burst through.

“What news?” Solas asked, taking in her flushed cheeks. She’d been attending to Ellana and Sera. Had something happened?

“No—no news, Sir! Your guests are comfortable as can be, as well they should, but I brought some of your things out of the room so you’d have a change of clothes, only I don’t know where to put them. Whose room will you move into?”

Solas wondered if she saw the humour in what she asked; he slept anywhere, just as he always had. A part of him had been glad to hand off that spacious room to some worthy cause.

He tried not to think of Ellana curled up in the large bed.

“The bench in the storage room will do, Reva. Put my things there. I thank you.”

She bobbed a curtsy, skittish in that heartbreaking way of some who’d lived lives of abuse. If it weren’t for the fire in her eyes, he would be surprised at her daring for joining their cause.

“Your own room…” Hathrial murmured, looking as if he might be regaining some of his righteous fury. Solas didn’t look at him as he responded.

“Do you imagine there was much luxury when I wandered alone? In the Inquisition, perhaps, travelling across Thedas with the world at stake? I would prefer not to get so used to comfort I miss its absence.”

Hathrial’s expression called him a liar, but Solas could hardly respond to the accusation in a stare. He was a liar of sorts—but this claim happened to be true. For the moment, it shut Hathrial up.

That would have to be enough for now.

 

* * *

 

The Fade was distinct from anything he’d known, changed by wear and time into a place that resembled everywhere, but in so doing only resembled itself. It was unique in every way, informed by reality but unbound, and that had made it dangerous. Dark things had always lurked in corners that couldn’t be reached, but so did marvellous things. Solas wondered what the world would be like when the Fade was restored to it: not the same as it had been, he was sure.

It had been exciting to experiment with the intersection of Fade and reality the past week. Their meagre successes in the Halamshiral mansion were the first he’d had in manipulating the Veil. It wasn’t gone—but it was permeable, inflated out into a dome in this one location, making the physical world a bit more malleable and the Fade a bit more real: an estuary of reality, salt and sweet water mixing into its own ecosystem. If he hadn’t been present when Ellana’s people moved the eighth collector, a sizeable rift might well have formed and torn the building apart. He’d had to even out the Veil in the blink of an eye, before the difference in pressure could suck all spirits in a several-mile radius through.

He wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave collectors unguarded again. He’d thought the location so remote as to be secret, especially with his people travelling by eluvian, but somehow her people had found the base. How long had they been aware of it? Were his agents here compromised? He doubted it; Ellana was convincingly ignorant of their purpose here.

_Focus_ , he thought, sitting on the settee in the lab with his palms open in his lap. The shimmer of the Veil was almost ordinary again, buoyed by his own panicked repair when the collector was moved. Thinning it too quickly would be a problem, so he took his time, gesturing only every now and then when he saw where to tug, where to bunch. Several hours in, most of the damage was undone; they could begin the experiments again in the morning. For now, most of the house was asleep. With the work done and no one to observe him, he let himself lean over until he was lying down. The work had been taxing; he fell asleep as soon as he was horizontal.

Sleep here was much like wakefulness, though with more colour. He was still in the mansion, its memories beckoning him into the past, but he ignored their pull and remained in something approximating the present. He was curious if he’d be able to find some connection between Sera and Andruil in the Fade here, a direction Andruil’s power was coming from, at the very least. The Fade in the mansion was heavier than elsewhere, and he traversed the distance to the upstairs room physically instead of pulling himself through the floor.

He sensed some of his own agents sleeping as he passed their rooms—two together, a matter he wouldn’t pry into—and then he was standing in front of the door to the best room. He opened it with a thought—and felt himself waken slightly. Ellana stood on the other side of the doorframe, just as she had when they said their good nights—but this time she wore only a plain white nightgown, obviously lent to her by Reva; it was the first time she had appeared in anything other than travel gear, and he wondered if it had been a conscious decision or an effect of the strange locale. She blinked at his sudden appearance, her eyes tracking up his body to meet his gaze. She looked only a touch less wary than she had earlier.

_She is here. She is close._

He wanted to crash through the door, bury his face in the side of her neck and collapse onto her, let her hold him up. He was so tired, and there was no solace in sleep. Only the thought of her stepping back and dropping him helped him curb the impulse.

“It’s different here,” she said at last, examining the doorframe. She held out a hand, and for a moment he thought she was reaching for him—but she was feeling for his barrier. “I’m reluctant to leave, and it tingles just a bit here. Is that possible?”

Passion flared inside of him, and a lecture on how the Fade was different here—but he ought not part with the information. “It is related to what we’re doing. Yes, it is possible—and interesting. I have tried to awaken one of my own to measure their observations, but not everyone is so comfortable in the Fade, or so gifted in manipulating it.”

“Not even the mage?”

“Mages,” he said absently, then regretted it. Information could be bad for them both. “Is Sera asleep?”

“Not just now,” Ellana said, and he could tell by the way she drew herself up that he’d put her on her guard. _Of course_. She had always had a soft spot for Sera, one he didn’t always relate to, especially during Sera’s more obnoxious moments. She coddled her, allowing her to run screaming from all her many fears. Solas had always been frustrated by the unfulfilled potential he saw in Sera.

He stepped forward now, suspecting Ellana lied, and Ellana stood aside. She crossed her arms as well as she could, her disapproval clear. It didn’t seem as if she had lied, at least; there was no trace of Sera’s mind in the room.

“This will be hellish for her,” Ellana said. “The Fade is strange here, and you told her she’s got this other being inside of her. Please don’t… don’t make it any worse than it has to be.”

“You have given up on escape, then?”

“I offered,” she said quietly. Her honesty reached into him, made his chest ache with something like hope, though he couldn’t say why. “There was a lot of swearing, but we decided against trying to leave.”

He shivered just slightly at the thought of her putting his warnings aside and escaping somehow. She and Sera were resourceful; it might be possible. What if his people killed her? She could die on Hathrial’s blade, and Hathrial would consider it a favour he did him. The thought didn’t bear thinking of.

He wished so much to hold her.

“Will you stay here waiting?” she asked, dropping into an armchair. He got the impression of a guard settling in for the night for all that she wore a nightgown. He dipped his head.

“I apologise, yes. Feel free to explore. The barrier will not truly hold you.”

She inclined her head. “You mean that? You want me to explore?”

“The Fade is different here, but it is still the Fade. Your imagination will fill it, and reality will remain something of a mystery.”

She folded her legs. “I’ll stay.”

Her serene pose only served to highlight his restlessness. Last time they met in the Fade she had launched herself into his arms. Now, with their physical bodies so close to one another, she kept a careful distance. He was aware of every inch, both here and between their real bodies.

He could cross to her, hold her regardless of her wishes. It was a reprehensible thought, but it woke his body, took up space in his mind. It might be welcome; perhaps she wanted an excuse to give in. He had wanted them himself during their time together.

_You must not_.

Standing was a bad idea. He could bridge the distance between them in two strides if he stood, and so he must sit and remove the temptation. He settled on the floor as if they were at camp, easing into what might be a long wait. It made Ellana uncomfortable on her friend’s behalf to have him here awaiting Sera, he could tell, but she would have to allow his curiosity about Sera’s connection to Andruil. She had held it up as a possible treat earlier, wanting him to give up his duty in the face of it. Why was she being so protective now?

_Because you told her it would make no difference_ , he thought. Belatedly, he realised he should have pretended it could change his mind. Why did it not occur to him to lie? He lost himself in self-recriminations, and they sat in silence, at rest but not relaxed. Ellana glanced at him every so often, making him curious and overeager. What was she thinking?

It wasn’t his business. He’d drawn too close, let himself be taken in. At this rate her manipulation would work. It might not stop him, but it would cause a rift between him and his people; his organisation would collapse if his top agents lost faith. Having separate cells wouldn’t help if he let the leaders of each doubt him.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked at last.

“Questions, as usual.” He ought to say no. “Naturally you may.”

It took her a while to work up to it, even with permission. His curiosity was a live thing inside of him, expanding. Why did her eyes glance off so, as if she felt guilty or embarrassed? Eventually she looked stalwartly away, visible cheek flushing.

“I was thinking of that night. When I woke you up after playing Wicked Grace with the others.”

He was glad they were in the Fade; there was no real spit for him to choke on. “Ah?”

“Why then, and not some other night? What changed for you? It wasn’t as if we lacked opportunities before then.”

He swallowed hard. “You truly wish to discuss it?”

“Or we could wait here in mutual silence.” She moved in the armchair so her legs were hanging over one arm and her back was against the other. It drew the plain nightgown up over her knees, and her bare legs were painful temptation, smooth and warm and accessible. They made him think how easy it would be to run his hands up them, gliding up her thighs until he was lifting the nightgown she wore and… he dropped his gaze to her ankles and tried not to think of holding them in his hands, feeling soft skin over delicate bones. No part of her was safe, especially not when she brought up that night he’d woken a needy fool.

_She is only a floor away_ , he thought. _You could be that fool again. You could know her again_. But he couldn’t—they couldn’t—and she knew it. It was why she had brought this up here instead of when they faced each other in the physical world.

“I don’t dream,” he said, not looking at her. He looked at his hands clasped between his knees. “I don’t have nightmares, precisely, though there are terrible things in the Fade that might count as such. But sometimes I… imagine things. Often not on purpose. You know how the Fade reacts. I am skilled enough not to do it, but sometimes I forget, or I let the fancy take me.”

“Are you leading up to the Solas-equivalent of ‘I had a bad dream’?”

“Yes. I imagined what might happen to you with the Veil gone, and the Fade supplied my worst imaginings—and then I woke to you draping yourself over me, warm and alive. You were laughing at me for falling asleep at my desk.”

“I’d had wine. Maybe not enough to justify sitting you up and climbing in your lap as you slept.”

“I assure you I didn’t mind.”

She watched him, eyes dark. “No? No regrets, then?”

He might have laughed if the subject weren’t so fraught. Regret was impossible, even if he’d overstepped his own boundaries that day. Waking to her laughter had been like waking into a glorious dream. She’d run her hands over his shoulders, up his neck, tilted his head back as she kissed below his jawline. The giddy way she did it left him in no doubt she expected to be put off as soon as he was awake enough to realise what was going on, but instead he’d kissed her, pulling her more firmly against him—and when he felt her heat against him rise fever-hot he had told her to turn around. He’d wanted to make her come; he would have gone on after the first few times if she hadn’t tried to reciprocate. He’d wanted to undress her on his desk, work her over until she was too exhausted to feel anything. It had been a selfish kind of love, drinking in her pleasure without quite allowing his own to match it.

He didn’t regret it, though he suspected he’d been in the wrong.

“Will it disappoint you if I say no? Perhaps I was sorry afterwards, when you became less forward.”

“I was waiting for it to come from your side. I was… embarrassed.”

“Why?”

She glanced away. “I convinced myself you’d been humouring me.”  

This time he did laugh. “I never credited you with such a talent for self-deception, but it would have taken considerable skill to see things from that direction. Well done. You could not have been more wrong.”

“Comforting,” she said.

He looked at his hands, trying not to remember her wet heat around his fingers, the noises she’d made. He had taken and taken. He’d convinced himself that if they never truly joined, it would be easier for her. How had she seen it, before she knew what he was? After?

“My restraint was only ever for you,” he said, eyes tracking up to meet hers. She was very still. “For what you would feel once you knew.”

“Do you think it made a difference?”

He shook his head. “I do not know.”

Her feet swung in an agitated movement. “Neither do I.”

They fell into silence. He had more to ask, but the feel of the room was shifting, and he knew Sera was falling asleep, her mind pouring into the Fade. She passed the room by, present but not, and he followed where she led, to a dream about… tightropes? Sera stood on a raised platform gazing at a thin rope connecting to another platform.

“Don’t do it, Sera,” a dream version of Ellana shouted from below. “You’ll fall into the water with the sharks.”

The rope was stretched over a field, but there were people standing under it, gazing up. The sharks, Solas presumed. It was a perfectly ordinary dream. Could he feel Andruil in it? Her guidance? Perhaps it paid off to train a champion in tightrope walking.

Somehow he doubted this was anything but Sera’s subconscience.

 “Sera!” said another Ellana—the real one. His eyes widened. How had she followed? It should not be possible, but here she was right beside him, gazing up at Sera’s platform. “Solas and I are here watching your dream. Just thought you should know.”

Sera glanced at her, but to Sera it would seem a natural part of the dream. She looked mildly annoyed, beginning to walk the tightrope.

“Are you learning anything?” Ellana asked.

“Not yet.”

They watched the dream unfold, changing several times, but there was no hint of Andruil’s presence. Solas strode forward, changing Sera’s dream into one of his own memories. He formed the little parlour of Andruil’s hunting lodge, wanting to gauge her reaction. Sera merely craned her neck at the paintings in confusion.

He grasped her forearm—and she glowed with a force that pushed him away. _Andruil._ Andruil wasn’t directing her from without, then, but from within. _How?_ How had she leaked into the world? Why could he make out no connection?

Belatedly he realised Sera had a knife in her hand, had found or conjured one while he was distracted, and she moved like lightning. He jumped back, willing distance between them—it was easy—while Ellana moved forward as if to knock Sera from her course. She drew up short when she saw how easily Solas had propelled himself away.

He stared. This afternoon, she had attacked him with seeming ease. Why step in now?

“I assure you—” he started, but had to dodge the knife Sera threw; it seemed safer to dodge than to will the knife off course when Sera’s powers were unknown. A shining bow materialised in Sera’s hands, and Solas didn’t like how… Andruil-ey it looked. Or rather, he found it fascinating, but also threatening. He would examine it further in time, but for now he retreated from Sera’s dream. It almost amused him how quickly she’d begun to attack when other stimuli were removed; she was as subtle as she ever had been, and as inclined to forgive.

_She has no reason to forgive you_ , he reminded himself. She valued straightforwardness, honesty. He had lied about who he was all the time they’d known one another. Ellana was the strange one for still wanting anything to do with him—if in truth she did.

No. She was no actress. The reason her manipulation worked was because it came from a place of truth, real feeling warped by circumstance. He did not deserve it.

“Could she kill you?”

Ellana was back, had followed him again. “How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“You navigate the Fade as if you were born to it.”

She blinked. “I’ve only been following you.”

Was that all? Their connection made it possible for her to follow him? It was a strange thought. “Could you find Sera, do you think?”

“Not sure. What did you learn?” She moved her weight onto one leg, arm crossed before her. Her jaw was set stubbornly to complete the picture; he wanted to kiss it.

“I cannot tell. She is strange, different. Andruil is like a wellspring inside of her.”

“Is it dangerous? Could it… take over?”

He shook his head. “That I cannot say.”

Ellana looked at the bed, where Sera’s slumbering form ought to lay. “I want to protect her. If she became like Flemeth, blended with Mythal…”

“If it happened, she would not mind. The part of her that minded would be gone.”

 “That doesn’t help. That’s like saying dead people don’t mind being dead. This is one of Sera’s worst fears.”

“I’m sorry. I am as lost as you in this matter.”

“For once,” she said, sighing. “There’s really no chance it… means more? For you?”

He swallowed. His previous response had been honest, saying it changed nothing—but who could know the future? He shrugged slightly. “It is unlikely. Not impossible.”

_Liar_.

No: he told the truth. Perhaps the fabric of the world was different from what he imagined. He had been wrong before.

_You only want to be wrong._ What about the people who relied on him? Who hoped for a better world where they could be whole, connected? What about those he had locked away, separated from themselves?

“You mean it?” she said.

He looked away from the earnest light in her eyes. This was the Fade; it ought to be less lifelike. “It is a very small chance, Ellana. Perhaps I only think it is there because I want it to be. You have no idea how much I wish to be wrong.”

“Solas…”

He looked up. Her eyes were calculating, but there was new energy in her posture. Her hand clenched to a fist.

“I’ll convince you,” she said. “I’ll show you you’re wrong. We all will. We can have it all, Solas.”

“That is a pipedream,” he said, choking on the _vhenan_ that wanted to follow it. If he started calling her that now, with them so close, all might be lost. _He_ would be.

“You’re the Fade expert,” she said. A smile tugged at her mouth. “You ought to have more faith in dreams.”

**Author's Note:**

> My DA blog is extravagantlies.tumblr.com and my main blog is the same as my handle here. Please talk to me about DA, I'm suffering and so are all my DA-aware friends that I'm annoying with constant and desperate solavellan talk they never asked for.


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